


Unfaithful Fact

by AlexNow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - High School, Asshole Liam who is actually really sweet, Asshole Louis, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Harry Styles is Marcel, He just doesn't want people to know, I have no idea if I doing this right so I'm sorry, Kidnapping, M/M, Modeling, Modeling AU, Nerd Harry, Nerd Harry Styles, Niall Louis and Liam are an asshole threesome, Niall is the nice guy who sometimes doesn't know how to shut his mouth and comes off as rude, Rape/Non-con Elements, Retirement, So is the rest but come on, Zayn is so attractive, this fic is going to become a bit of a problem omg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexNow/pseuds/AlexNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><del><span class="small"><i>Harry Styles, male model on the brink of finding indefinite fame with his charms and looks announces retirement and disappears. Sources state Styles has permanently left the business of modelling behind and never plans on returning.</i></span></del><br/>-<br/><span class="small">Modeling AU where two best friends try to fit in, another two friends act like assholes when they're not, and a certain Irish lad laughs at watching everyone else hate each other.</span></p><p>
  <b>-ON HIATUS-</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been written for an anonymous user on Tumblr who had asked for this ages ago. Please have in mind I am not a fan of One Direction, so I have no idea whether I'm doing this right.   
>  Also, constructive criticism is welcome (so I can change the wrong details I got on this). Hate is not. I actually had to read Larry fanfiction before writing this so I could have an idea of who they are are what they are mostly written as (and if I found Larry fanfiction awesome and I keep reading it, it's nobody's business).   
>  **PLEASE READ:**   
>  It may seem sometimes as if Harry has a multi-personality disorder considering sometimes he's Harry and sometimes Marcel, but that's not the case at all. It's just how his friends and family see him. Say, sometimes Marcel slips and accidentally does something Harry would do, and Zayn sees so he thinks/calls Marcel _'Harry',_ something Marcel/Harry hates.

_They see the sunlight in the darkness at bay, d_ _isapproval in honesty, to lie. H_ _elp make it through their day._ _They never are any different, their faces blend in._ _Smile with charm, forget them with gin._

 

+

 

"I sort of really hate you, mate."

In response, Louis gets a snort and an eye roll; something which, by the way, he does _not_ appreciate. Niall doesn't seem to care, though, as he shoves more Doritos into his mouth, enough to that his mouth has trouble chewing (somehow he has managed to master the art, though).

"Either way," Liam interrupts, saving his friends from having a meaningless argument (which usually ends with Louis feverishly knocking Niall's food to the floor in anger and the Irish boy wailing in loss as he kneels to pick up the crumbs slowly, sniffing), "Why do you want us to help you anyway?"

"Yeah," Niall argues, mouth stained in orange as he sucks on his fingers to enjoy the remaining cheese, "It's not like you won't do it if we don't help anyway." This conversation is pointless. They have it  _every time_.

"A villain could never go on dominating the world without his sidekicks!" Louis exclaims, quite exaggeratedly, "It doesn't matter if they'd never admit it. Bonnie and Clyde! Sherlock and Watson! Osborn and Doctor Octopus! Loki and-- and his magical cube! --"

"Sherlock and John aren't villains." Liam says.

"Pretty sure the Tesseract isn't a person." Niall notes thoughtfully. 

"Guys," Louis does not whine (he swears he didn't), "Pay attention."

"Right." Liam nods in a business matter and they both give Louis all their attention.

"So what do we have to do?" Niall asks as he moves to grab another bag of chips from his bag. Louis, he grins.

 

+

 

The day is (no surprise there) chilly. Perhaps it's going to rain, there is no way to know.

"Oh god, I knew I should have worn double socks today!" Harry yells as he subconsciously wraps his arms around himself, as if protecting himself from the raindrops that are bound to come. Zayn sighs.

"Don't. Just-- don't." He tells him, wraps his hand around his messenger bag as it’s hoisted on his hip.

"What? Don't die of hypothermia? Thanks, such nice wishes." He mumbles and ducks his head down as they continue walking through the somewhat quiet streets, on their way to school. He slams his feet onto the pavement a bit more forcefully in annoyance. Zayn ignores this action in favor on looking completely ahead, only glancing at the younger boy every once in a while.

"Don't start regretting stuff you did or didn't do before we even properly start the day." He finally says, after of moment of silence of Harry viciously slamming his clean Oxford shoes onto the floor.

"I already regret waking up this morning." Harry sighs, and he moves his hand to his face to start rubbing his right eye from under his thick glasses.

Zayn turns his head as they continue walking and glances briefly up and down Harry's body before looking away and beginning to chew obnoxiously at his gum, "I'm sure you'll be warm enough not to die with that long sleeve shirt and vest."

"You always say that."

" _Look_ , if you get cold I'll just lend you my jacket in school, okay?" Zayn finally snaps, more than a bit annoyed with how their week has started. Harry narrows his eyes, fully aware that Zayn is wearing his pitch black leather jacket.

"You know you can't."

Zayn rolls his eyes and flicks in an irritated a strand of loose hair from his face, "No, I don't see why. You're just paranoid, Harry, that--"

"Zayn." Harry interrupts with a meaningful look. Zayn sets his jaw.

"You're just hysteric with the idea of having people know, _Marcel_ , that you're a friend of Zayn Malik."

"You say it in such a horrible way." Harry-- _Marcel_ mumbles.

"Oh, sorry. Did I miss the positive side of this?" Zayn asks, and the worst part is that he doesn't sound annoyed. His voice if void of emotion once again, and Marcel can’t help but expect the worst of when Zayn refuses to show how he feels about certain situations.

This is what causes Marcel to quietly tap on Zayn's side before offering an apology, his soft lips curled into a frown as he sniffs at the cold and pushes his glasses up this nose.

Zayn shrugs, "All is far in love and war, right?"

Marcel grins, his dimples showing in a way that reminds Zayn that Harry is still there, alive and just waiting for his opportunity to reveal himself, "I love you too, mate."

 

+

 

"Louis, if we get caught--"

Louis shakes his head and sympathetically pats Liam's shoulder in a reassuring matter. Liam quiets, falling silent at Louis' signature carefree grin.

"Don't worry, Payne. Niall and I got this. By the end of the day your criminal record will be as spotless, alright?"

Liam feels like snorting and arguing about how his record is anything but spotless thanks to his friends, but instead he nods before biting his bottom lip, chewing it in a nervous habit he acquired long ago. He trusts Louis' judgement, of course, as well as Niall's, but both boys can be rather careless most of the time and it is no secret that Louis is a 'troublesome boy' between teachers, 'bad influence' among parents and 'hot rebel mess' to their peers. Therefore, it is most plausible that Louis is the first to be blamed when their... work is discovered; and everyone knows who his best mates are. If Louis goes down, so will Niall and Liam.

"Work's done here!" Niall's voice comes from the dark classroom. Liam glances at Louis and sighs at what he sees.

As usual, the blue eyed teen’s excitement is shown openly on his face. He has a grin that usually only maniacs can pull off spread across his face as his eyes glisten in an excited way he doesn't know whether to categorize as childish excitement or hysterical glee. The crinkles beside his eyes mark and his grin passes the tip of his nose, is possible. The fact that his hair is currently out of place does not help the matter, considering he keeps running a hand through it in it as he keeps trying to mess it up.

"Great! Work's done, boys."

Liam sighs and nods, says, "Time to go." The relief is evident on his voice.

Louis animatedly jumps up from his seat on the outside chairs of the Headmaster's room, Liam slowly getting up and following just before Niall's body pops from the entrance and he skips towards them.

"You think they'll find out it was you?" Niall asks as he carelessly throws his arm around Liam and Louis' shoulders. He asks a question with an obvious answer.

"Of course." Louis responds with his cheeky grin.

Liam doesn’t fret, as he knows Louis will take all the credit and save him and Niall from trouble as well. This isn't the first time this has happened. He just hopes they won't catch Liam was there too like last tine through the school cameras (not that they will. Their cameras are cheap and broken, from what he knows). No one else seems to have these thoughts, though, and they continue walking through the empty hallway, soon to be full of students ready for their first day of school.

"But they don't have proof." Liam argues, bound to defend his friend either way. Louis's grin widens, if possible.

"Of course they don't." He says happily. Niall laughs loudly and jogs ahead of them, turning his back after a while to the hallway and motioning his friends to follow him. Liam smiles slightly as he speeds up, because they always do.

 

+

 

Louis hasn't said this yet but they all know the reason behind this. Louis finds it necessary to remind his old classmates that he has known since kindergarten who Louis Tomlinson is, and for all the new students this year to find out. It's all about reputation.

“Don’t let them forget my name,” Louis had said once, “We shouldn't let them forget who I am.”

 

+

 

Snorts. Laughter. Giggles full of mockery. Bewildered looks. Marcel isn't surprised when he receives them. In fact, he has grown so used to them that he has managed to ignore these rude reactions for the first few hours. He was quickly continued walking to his new locker with his head bowed down and he managed to find his classes by himself with only a bit of trouble. His new school is rather large, yes, but after every class is finished he asks his teacher where his next class is and it comes out alright. It always does.

There aren't new people like him, Marcel notices. He sees no one (well, when his head isn't facing dead to the floor) lost or alone. Everyone has friends, they have people around them enjoying their presence. He hears names being shouted around him in glee ("Ryan! Oh my god, I missed you over summer!") and sees people being hugged in a way Marcel would feel uncomfortable with. The only person in the school he knows is Zayn, and yet when he passes his friend he quickly faces the other way and swiftly cuts past him without a single glance, though Marcel doesn't miss the irritated eye roll he receives from the dark haired boy.

Zayn‘s always alone, as Marcel has noticed. Zayn had told him this on the phone before, but Marcel never knew how serious Zayn was, since his best friend knows people. He's known most of the school since pre-school, and yet he doesn't make any move to become friends with any of them.

 _"The Bradford Badboy,"_ Harry had laughed one day as they sat on the beach sand on one of their many summer vacations together, _"Is that what you are? Too quiet and intimidating to talk to, with your cigarette, tattoos and leather jacket?"_

Zayn had laughed as well as he played with a crab that had been trying to pinch him for the last hour, _"No, I don't think that's it. Most of these people know me, Haz. To them I'm still the five year old boy with a weird haircut. They just don’t care."_

Harry had responded with a shrug, _“Then they’re not worth it.”_

Marcel is brought out of his thoughts as he opens his locker by some loud chatter coming from behind him, and he furrows his eyebrows as he tries to shove his head into his locker, out of view.

"Seriously?" A bewildered voice says, "Graffiti?"

"Who you bet it to be?" Someone else asks. A snort in response.

"Tomlinson's always the reason for these things." She says, obviously trying to sound impassive when there's amusement in her voice, "Can't seem to ever be anyone else."

"The Irish?"

"He's just the minion."

"How did they even get in?"

There's laughter, and someone telling the confused guy it's just something they'll never know besides Louis' best mates. Before Marcel can hear anything else he quietly closes his locker door as to not draw any attention to himself, but he notes to himself that he obviously failed.

_"Oh god, a vest? **Really**?"_

_"Definitely a new kid."_

_"Maybe he wouldn't look so stupid if he got rid of the old taped glasses."_

_Well,_ Marcel thinks as he bites the inside of his cheeks in attempt to distract himself from the burn behind his eyes, _At least they're trying to whisper._

 

+

 

Marcel knows everyone thinks his choice of clothes, glasses and hairstyle is a decision made from a blind man. He himself knows it's not the best for someone his age, but wearing t-shirts instead of vests like most teenagers do is not an option.

Everyone laughs, they laugh together at him. The nerd. The new kid. What is he thinking? Is he purposely trying to look stupid?

 _"Doesn't matter,"_ Zayn had said after the first day of school was over, rubbing his hand over his face in a distressed matter, _"You've never really let that affect, Marce. Don't let it now."_

Marcel had nodded and looked away from his best friend, because he has never liked the idea of watching him suffer from uneasiness, especially when he's being the cause for it. Zayn, as always, is right, so he nods slowly.

 _"Yeah,"_ Marcel says softly staring at his hands, _"It doesn't matter."_

He doesn't say anything after, just lets Zayn pull him into a hug.

 

+

 

Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne and Niall Horan. For the past week that Marcel has been here (struggling with homework, trying to sneak his food into the library at the lunch hour and memorizing the routes to his classes) he has heard about quite the adventures those three have had. He has never really seen them, to be honest, since his nose is always buried into a textbook, but he doesn't need to in order to imagine how their appearance is.

Bulky, arrogant smirks and sneers at anyone below them. It's what those types of troublemakers always are like.

"Tomlinson gave his Spanish teacher the finger."

"Niall Horan told the Headmaster to shut up... again."

"Liam managed to get suspended, I heard."

It's no surprise anymore for Marcel. It's getting boring, to be quiet honest, and as long as Marcel doesn't ever cross their path he doesn't care. Getting shoved into lockers and trashcans is an experience he much rather avoid and never live again.

Marcel never goes to the lunchroom, as stated before. In fact, he has never seen it. He knows Zayn goes, and that he probably sits alone while glaring at his food and anyone who as much as glances at him, but he rather not accompany him.

 _"I'll attract attention to myself if I'm seen with you,"_ He had told Zayn the night he told him he was moving to his city, _"I don't want to be noticed, Zayn."_

Zayn had been silent on the other side of the line for a long moment before he said, _"So you're telling me we're going to live in the same city for the first time in three years and you don't even want people to know we're friends because being seen talking to Zayn Malik is too dangerous?"_

Marcel had flinched and stayed quiet, because Zayn was right. He had nothing to defend because Zayn had stated exactly what Marcel was thinking.

Zayn had taken it calmly, to be honest, as calm as he always is. He understood for the most part and when Marcel had finally moved in with his mother he had gone straight to Zayn's house and they had spent the last days of summer vacation together.

 _"Can we at least walk to school together tomorrow, Harry?"_ Zayn asked as they played videogames. The other boy had nodded while staring at the floor and glanced up to give Zayn a reassuring smile.

_"It's Marcel now."_

 

+

 

Of course, the only time Marcel goes to the lunchroom to buy food is the one time something actually happens there.

Marcel was waiting in line, quiet and avoiding eye contact or any type of physical contact with anyone when suddenly a booming voice shook Marcel awake as he zoned out while staring at the food being given to those in front of him, "Ladies, gents and cyclopes! I, Louis Tomlinson of Midgard, present to you a never before seen trick! Something not even the bravest of magicians have done!" By now Marcel has tensed and he refused to turn around to the direction of the voice. The sooner he could leave unnoticed, the better. Around him, whispers had already started.

_"What is he up to **now**?"_

_"He isn't going to start a food fight again, right? I just bought this bloody shirt."_

_"Hopefully he doesn't fall flat on his face, or he'll have to leave to the hospital for a week again. He was supposed to go to my party on Saturday and if he doesn't go, no one will."_

Now, Marcel would be able to use Louis' distraction as an opportunity to leave without whispers about him trailing behind but he needs his food as as long as the whole line of students stares at someone behind him who is most likely Louis Tomlinson and they don't advance, Marcel's stuck.

"Don't worry, lads," A voice says from beside Marcel and he holds his breath, hopes he doesn't attract much attention from being the one beside the talking person, "I'm sure he's just going to start an eating contest or something of that sort.” Then, “Mate, you look worried, more so than anyone else 'ere."

The last part is directed Marcel's way and he glances through the corner of his eye towards the same person, finding himself widening his eyes at a grinning face.

"It'll be over soon, I promise!" He says, his grin ever present on his face, and Marcel detects a strange accent, "You're new, right? That's Louis Tomlinson," He points towards the tables behind him but Marcel makes no move to try to find out who the person with the reputation is, "He does things like this often, you know. You get used to it."

Marcel nods quickly and looks away. He feels a gaze fixed on him and he looks ahead to see a lone table, only with Zayn perched on it. Noticing his slightly concerned gaze at seeing how someone is talking to him, Marcel barely nods, but Zayn gets the message.

_I'm fine._

"WHO IS WILLING TO PARTICIPATE IN THIS WITH ME? WHO, I repeat, _WHO_ is willing to take up on this glorious opportunity?" Louis Tomlinson's voice again, and Marcel breathes hard. Let this all finish.

"You, my-oh-so trustful one, Niall Horan has been chosen!"

A laugh comes from behind him and someone pats him on the back. Marcel turns back to see the guy who had tried to talk to him shoot him another reassuring grin and then he's off, leaving the lunch line.

Marcel turns away quickly, stares at his hands and has trouble breathing. He did not just talk to Niall Horan without knowing; famous for his Irish accent and knowing Louis Tomlinson personally.

Once buying his food quickly, ignoring the cheering around him as people cheered Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan on, he leaves and quickly walked towards his next class to sit there alone, groan and smash his head into the desk as his hair full of wax crunched into the plastic. His glasses also slip from his face but he doesn't care if they break again. He could just tape them up again on the bridge of his nose.

In conclusion, he can't believe his luck.

 

+

 

"I can't believe you just did that." Liam groans as they walk towards their next class, Louis laughing as he grins at people's greeting his way and even stopping to punch fists together with some.

"I know!" Niall exclaims, "It was great!" Liam gives Niall a pointed look.

"That's not what I meant."

"Well, it is what I think!" Louis says when a couple students yell in excitement as Louis nears. Liam rolls his eyes. He doesn't know at what point his best friend from kindergarten started acting like a celebrity. For him and Niall, he's still the kid from second grade who cried when he got gum stuck to his hair. ("My hair!” A childish voice had cried, "Mum will get angry!")

Smooth, Liam sighs, Louis never used to be this smooth.

"Besides," Louis continues as he swings his arms around Liam's shoulders and brings him down to his level, "What's the fun of being in college when you don't do things like these?"

"Then it's a normal college." Liam says.

"Exactly! No one wants that!"

"Speak for yourself." Liam mutters.

"Poodles." Niall suddenly says, and they stop walking when they see Niall has stopped walking as well, a few steps behind them with his eyebrows furrowed as he stares at his cookie which has fallen to the floor. He ends up shrugging and scoops it up, blowing on it a couple times and throwing it into his mouth.

"I have to go," Louis eventually says, grinning once again, and he removes his arm from Liam, "There's no time to waste!"

Liam knows this means Louis is probably skipping class so he nods and leaves. Niall moves to his classroom which he conveniently has stopped walking next to and walks in just as the bell sounds. The professor, which has stopped filing his stuff, looks up to notice Niall warily and motions him to take a seat. Niall does so, at the back of the class, and noisily slams his bag to the floor beside his chair. When the teacher looks up, he grins, and is already ready to deal with whatever is going to come out of the professor's open mouth ("Mr. Horan, now that you have enlightened us with your presence would you do us a favor of you shutting up?", "Mr. Horan, please at least pretend to be interested in my lesson." or, "Mr. Horan... get out."), when someone suddenly stumbles into the room.

"I am so sorry," An exasperated voice says, "I was on my way to class but I got cornered and they took my backpack so--"

"Take a seat, Marcel," The professor interrupts with a sigh, fixing his glasses perched on his nose and he, uninterested, flips through the subject's textbook, "And don't let it happen again."

Niall looks up, and sees that the boy from earlier, the one with the amazingly lame clothes and horrible sense of style and whatnot. The one all the girls he usually talks to were making fun of.

The boy visibly slumps and he nods and mumbles something under his breath, lowering his head even more when he hears snickers and giggles of mock. On his way to his usual seat at the back of the classroom (the only lone desk, really) a guy places his foot in front of him, making him nearly trip and there are laughs. The professor doesn't care.

The guy, Niall sees from his place on his desk (arms still behind his head and legs spread out), straightens up and glances back. He grabs his bag tighter and continues his journey, ignoring the things that are being thrown to his back.

"Ey, you! New kid! Whatever your name is, get over ‘ere!" Someone says, and the accent is unmistakable. Everyone turns to Niall with bewildered eyes, and _oh_. He didn't even notice his own mouth opened.

The new kid freezes in his steps and he looks up, eyes wide from behind his glasses and his hand still gripping his backpack. Niall sees that realization dawns in his classmates' eyes as they begin to smirk and _no_. That is not what Niall wants. His intention isn't to humiliate the kid. Sure, Niall has done it before but hasn't again in a while. He doesn't think that he'd like to start that habit again, especially not after the disapproving stares Liam would give him with giving the silent treatment, full of disappointment.

Niall pats the seat beside him with a grin and the kid eyes it before moving over, ever so hesitant and seeming to think there was no other way he would get out of this.

Now, Niall has never properly invited someone to sit next to him. Everyone knows he prefers to sit alone (he isn't like Louis, who likes to watch girls fight for the seat next to him; he isn't like Liam who always wants his closest friends near him, and only them). Niall lets anyone who wants to sit next to him enjoy the place to his right, in any class, but they know he doesn't appreciate this. He is far from someone who doesn't enjoy company, but where is he going to put his feet in class when he can't use the table?

"What's your name?"

The nerd blinks as he slowly sets his bag on the floor next to the seat and he glances back at Niall before looking back down. He takes a seat one seeing that no pin or fart pouch is on it. The professor has started the lecture. Only some take notes and everyone else stopped paying attention to them.

"Marcel."

Niall snorts, "No offense, mate, but that's a ridiculous name."

Marcel's hand tightens on the pencil as he begins writing down whatever is being said, "I happen to like it." He responds.

Niall has shifted himself so his back faces the wall and his front is horizontal towards Marcel, who is staring directly at the whiteboard.

"I don't. You should change it."

 

+

 

"Asshole. He's a bloody cunt!" Marcel says, agitated, and he buries his hands in his hair, a habit he must get rid of since his fingers have a hard time going through the wax. Zayn rolls his eyes.

"Calm down, Marce," He says, "Sending him to hell verbally won't actually do the trick."

"I knew those bloody assholes were full of shit," Marcel continues while glaring at the ground as he continues walking from one side of the room to the other, "They're trouble and have a self esteem too high for their own good. Why the fuck am I even wasting my time talking about them?"

Zayn tries to reason as he plays Mario Kart, half his attention on his best friend since he knows Marcel tends to do this quite often. There is no reason to feel surprise.

"You've only met Niall, and a minute ago you said you've never seen Louis and Liam."

"Well, I bet they're assholes as well." Marcel says confidently. Zayn quiets.

"I'm sure Niall was only trying to be nice, considered he invited you to sit by him. That way no one would have continued to bother you."

"Or he did that to bother me himself." Marcel tries to reason, stopping in his tracks to walk to the bed and throw himself on it, suddenly tired. Zayn shrugs.

"You shouldn't judge so quickly. Maybe they're nice."

Marcel lifts his head and narrows his eyes at his best friend, who is still busy playing videogames with his back towards Zayn, "Why are you so dedicated on defending them?" He asks, and he sees Zayn tense. Zayn looses his hand control and ends in last place, so he collapses his arms to his sides, defeated.

"I'm not. I've never even talked to them."

"Yeah, well, it's probably better that way." Marcel mumbles, closes his eyes.

Zayn sighs. "Yeah, whatever. Maybe you're right."

 

+

 

Marcel is seated on his best mate’s bed as he carefully crosses his legs and sighs in pleasure as he leans back into Zayn’s cushions, those expensive ones you usually only get a taste of in expensive hotels in places like Rome, London, Los Angeles and Las Vegas. Marcel refuses to admit he misses it (though, honestly, his mother _had_ asked him whether he wanted his room to be full of these posh bolsters and pillows, since it was his money he worked hard for that he could use on anything he wanted, but Marcel had vehemently refused).

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.” Comes Zayn’s voice. Marcel laughs softly into the bed cover, his nose upturned as he inhales the clean smell of Zayn.

“Quite missed this place, Zayn.”

Zayn smiles, lies down beside Marcel and wraps an arm around his waist, his chest pressing against Marcel’s back, “Glad you’re back, Marce.”

Marcel doesn’t say anything on how he doesn’t like how that name comes out of Zayn’s lips and just sighs contentedly as he lets Zayn’s hums lull him to sleep, the other’s arm still wrapped protectively over him, and for once, he feels safe.

 

+

 

_**Six years before.** _

_You see, Zayn had never always lived in in Manchester. Sure, he grew up there with his parents and his siblings, but only during the first years of his life could he enjoy the moments of which he went to his religion classes for children while his mother went to her prayers with her friends._

_Only until he was twelve could he walk to the grocery store with his mother and yell enthusiastically as he saw his favorite cereal that has long been gone is his house for the last two days (he gives credit to his father for that, considering the old man had always said he’s going to get diabetes with the sugary snack only to munch on some himself and then, when Zayn would call him on it, refuse to admit it)._

_His mother would laugh and put a box in the cart, Zayn grinning at the action in happiness as he walked alongside his mother through the aisles, only straying away when something would catch his attention._

_This time, though, when the twelve year old walks back to his mother after catching eye on a poster of the newest action movie his friends have been talking about, he sees her smiling as she watches a woman talk animatedly with her, nodding and laughing with her at all the right times._

_“Mum?” He calls in question, and his mother smiles at him as he nears her, holding back a shiver as he walks closer to her, near the meat refrigerators._

_“Honey, meet Mrs. Styles. She’s new in town.” She says and lightly nudges his shoulder as he stands in front of her. Zayn doesn’t smile at the woman with the eager wide grin and nods once at her, extends his arm towards her._

_“Hi. Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He mutters, his voice only loud enough to be heard clearly, though his confidence is something no one questions. He can practically hear his mother holding back a proud beam from behind him. Mrs. Styles grins back and takes his hand between her two of her larger own._

_“Why! Such a well-mannered young man!” Mrs. Styles says, and she suddenly lets go of his hand and whirls the top part of her body around. She seems to reach for someone and usher him in front of her._

_“Harry, don’t just stand there! Come say hello, sweetheart. This might be your first friend here!” She says, and Zayn holds back a snort at how she talks to her child._

_As the child steps out from the comfort of being his mother’s shadow, Zayn is met with green eyes and military short hair. A boy no older than him, probably even younger by a year, at least. He’s currently beet red, no doubt about how his mother is treating him in front of strangers, and he gives Zayn a hesitant grin and Jesus Christ, are those **wires** on his teeth with pink in them? Don’t misunderstand, Zayn has never been once for criticizing people for their physical appearance, but does this kid want to get bullied?_

_“M’ Harry.” He mumbles, eyes on the floor and only glancing up a few times. Zayn nods, smiles at him in as much reassurance as he can muster, and though it isn’t enough, he tries. This seems to work anyway, as Harry catches the smile and beams back with enough composure to let Zayn know that, yes, he without doubt has dimples._

_Zayn realizes, as his mother and Mrs. Styles talk animatedly, that he might like Harry as his friend as Harry begins telling him about his mates back home. He seems nice enough, Zayn thinks, for an eleven year old (not that Zayn, at age twelve, is much older), though maybe not with a single ‘cool’ hair on him._

_Zayn wonders whether he will see him again to help him out with finding people nice enough to take him in into their group, because Zayn’s friends would never even hesitate to say no. But even though he sees Harry at school the next day and almost every day after that, he never speaks to him again._

_Or, at least not for the next year._

 

+

 

**Present.**

The first time Marcel encounters Louis, he is in the hallways on his way to the reference library for lunch, where he has spent the utmost of his time ever since he arrived there (in addition to being with his mate, of course). Louis and Marcel don’t essentially _talk,_ which is something Marcel is endlessly indebted of, but, well.

"I'll be fine... No, yeah, don't wor-- Yes, I get it." He mutters into the receiver, Zayn on the other end, talking from behind the school grounds, and taking long drags from his cigarette as he positions his phone between his fingers lazily, but his eyes still move cautiously throughout the field visible to him, surely. 

_"I'm just saying, Marce. He’d be too high to give a shit. No one will ever look for either of us and you--"_

"I'm _fine,_ " He repeats starkly, his phone pressed harshly against his ear with his tense hand, "Please, Zayn--"

Marcel cuts himself off and rubs his eyes with his unoccupied hand under his glasses, sighs, “Really, Zayn. Thank you, but I should remember how to deal the real world by myself.”

"Hey, four eyes! Watch out!"

Marcel doesn't have any time to turn around and act in response, thank you very much, before he is stamped in the head with a very firm football, and as he falls to the ground his glasses go flying across the hall. The dialing tone resonates through his ear and he guesses Zayn had already hung up, knowing better than to argue with Marcel.

Marcel hangs up on Zayn as well with his free hand as his injured hand stays upon his chest, having hurt with the impact as he fell to the ground. He hears yells after, from behind him ("Dude, your aim sucks!" someone says, between laughs. "Fuck, did I kill just kill someone?" the other person responds) and soon footsteps jogging towards him.

He feels someone grab him from the collar of his undershirt to haul him up, which really just chokes him until he's forced to get on his knees and stand up before his starts sporting a long bruise around his neck, and he turns around to find none other than Liam Payne staring at him with pity. Stupid, annoying and unsatisfying pity.

"Hey!" This expression comes from behind Liam, and in an Irish accent, "It's Mario!"

Marcel doesn't correct him and just steps away from Liam while trying to tone down his grimace, which he doesn't really succeed. His glasses are still thrown somewhere behind him.

"You alright?" Liam asks, and Marcel has heard his clear voice enough times around school to know that his voice is really unconcerned about his well-being, and is simply asking in order to not be much of a twat.

"M' fine." He responds, and doesn't take his eyes off the ground as he waits for them to leave, because he knows that walking away from the school's jocks before being they leave is never something smart to do unless you _want_ to have new scars littered around your body.

Someone laughs, "Did you _see_ my kick though? It was my best yet! Too bad we're not in a game right now. Why don't we have games in the hallways again?"

Liam shoots Louis an annoyed glare, knowing Marcel is too busy concentrating on the ground to open to swallow him whole for him to notice, " _Louis._ "

Louis rolls his eyes and then moves to stare at the slick-haired boy standing in front of Liam, the one with the vest and khaki pants which make his legs sink into them. He snorts and looks away, tells Liam, "What? I _warned_ him."

Niall laughs and slips his hand onto Liam's shoulder to pat it gently as he grins, temporarily forgetting about the fourth person there who is, in fact, trying to find the perfect moment to slip away unnoticed.

"Sorry, mate, but Louis' got a point there."

Liam's jaw clenches at them as he stares at them over his shoulder and Niall's grin widens and Louis pulls out his phone to check through his notifications on twitter for the second time in the last hour, not surprised to see more than seventy new notifications in store for him.

Niall's smile suddenly slips off his face as he looks over Liam's shoulder, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Hey, where's Marcel?"

 

+

 

It's only a couple minutes later after Marcel left the hallways to the library that he realizes, through blind eyes, that he left his glasses on the floor after being too focused on quietening his steps.

He doesn't stop himself from cursing loudly.

 

+

 

Two days later Marcel is sitting on his laptop in his room (with his new glasses set aside him), legs crossed on the floor with his yoga mat under him as he calmly looks through his email messages. He notices an email from his agent titled, _'URGENT'._ Upon further inspecting he noticed it was sent two days ago and, with his phone uncharged and being too lazy to connect it, he had not been able to check his messages or missed phone calls (not that he'd expect to have any from anyone besides Zayn).

Once opening it he realizes his heart had started beating fast through his chest and he closes his eyes and momentarily tries to forget about the email. After all, he's sitting on his yoga mat for a reason. Perhaps the yoga classes he was forced to attend _are_ something he admits to missing. Either way, he opens it and his eyes skim over the words on the mail, imprints them on his brain.

_Harry Styles,_

_I do not admit to have broken the rules you have given me, since you specifically said that I should not contact you unless it is a matter of life or death (which your soon lack of money after retiring and possibly giving in to starvation can give) and here I am, doing as your highest majesty has asked. (That was sarcasm, Harry, love)._

_Anyway, please, **please let me explain thoroughly before you decide to refuse.**_

_I have been taking care of certain matters involving Zayn Malik for nearly three months since you decided to leave the industry and had no interest in being involved in contracts where you took part in (I have also given this note to being divulged throughout so no one tries to contact you without consulting me first) but, as to a couple days ago, I was given an offer I could not refuse._

_Harry Edward Styles, you have to promise to think about it before you refuse as to this is about a collection going to be shown on international television on one of the biggest runway shows in Paris, France and--_

Marcel snaps his laptop close and his breathing is labored, he noticed. His eyes are wide and in shock as he tries to process the words he just read, can't believe his agent had _the fucking nerve to--_

He grabs his laptop with shaking fingers as he stands up and closes his eyes while trying to find a way to _breathe._ His eyelashes flutter as he tries to hold back his tears and his bottom lip quivers in anticipation as he holds back all he wants to say, all he wants to scream.

In the end, his anger wins and his eyes snap open as they rim red and tears make his green eyes glisten. He doesn't think twice and his fingers tighten over his laptop, he hurls it to the wall before falling to the ground and screaming.

 

+

 

 _One. Two. Three. The first petal falls._ _He eats the forbidden apple._ _No response to his calls._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Marcel moves back to his old town, where he reunites with his best friend, Zayn. Zayn is pissed that Marcel refuses to let other people know they're friends in case he receives unwanted attention. Louis, Niall and Liam are all arrogant assholes. Louis blasts a football into Marcel's face. No one apologizes, really (Liam sort of asks whether he's alright). Marcel sneaks away and leaves his glasses in the hallway. Back home, he receives an email from his agent and has a mental breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm sort of getting the hang of this. Either way, kudos and comments are very much appreciated!   
>  -Alex

Marcel doesn’t appear at school the next day, Tuesday, and Zayn doesn’t try looking for him. On the other hand, Liam Payne’s hand rests in his jacket pocket lightly as he walks through the full hallways of the school, trying not to be obvious as he frantically searches through the crowd for a head filled with wax owned by a boy in s sweater vest.

No longer than a quarter of an hour later, Liam feels a hand set itself on his shoulder and hears a sigh coming from the owner but he doesn’t halt in his steps.

“Just leave it, Liam. He obviously didn’t come today, or simply is good at being in the shadows,” Louis says, exasperation clear in his voice and obviously jaded, “Let’s just go play footie.” Liam still doesn’t stop his search.

“No. I have to give him his glasses he left on the floor back. What if he fails his exams because he can’t take notes and keeps slamming into things?” Liam says this offhandedly.

“Well, then, let’s find him and have a laugh!” At Liam’s hard stare he sighs, “Li, you can give them to him later. Friday we have a game and I rather we don’t embarrass ourselves.”

Liam gives one last look around him with his bottom lip between his teeth and with a defeated sigh the worry that was etched across his features is replaced by defeat. He knows as well as Louis that it’s nearly impossible to embarrass themselves as they’re the best players on the team, but doesn’t comment.

Liam doesn’t pay any attention to the disappointed faces of the female student body around him as he turns his back to them to face Louis (their backs slump as they stop trying to expose their breasts to him ‘subtly’ and their lips turn into a pout once they stop batting their eyelashes in attempt to seem seducing. Liam doesn’t notice them anyway, still is unaware of the attention he receives over his physical appearance, only thinking girls want to have a night with him for being Louis right hand man but, well, that’s another story).

“You’re right,” Liam says, and Louis seems thrilled at these words directed at him he never hears, “Do you know any of Marcel’s friends? You know, so I could give them his glasses? In case they see him today?”

Louis snorts and tilts his head back to have his fringe fall back into place, “Does he even _have_ any friends?”

“Louis.” Liam says, warning clear in his tone. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, okay. Anyway, no, I don’t and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be caught talking to those losers.”

Liam usually scowls at Louis for his harsh words over people but this time, knowing his best friend is right, says nothing. Louis pretends not to notice as he sends him a grin.

“Fifty quid I kick your ass on the field.”

Liam grins back.

 

+

 

There are three knocks on his bedroom door, and he reaches by clenching his jaw, his fingers tightening on the edge of the cardboard box he was looking through, sitting with his legs crossed on the floor.

“I’m fine, mum,” He says, doesn’t turn around when he hears the door open and he continues to look through the objects in the box in an irritated manner, “Don’t worry. I’ll go back to school tomorrow.”

“Honey,” She says, and Marcel closes his eyes when he hears the worry in her voice, at seeing how utterly _destroyed_ his room is by the hands of her own son, “Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He mutters, continues rummaging through his belongings.

His mother doesn’t say anything and Marcel forgets she’s even there until she suddenly steps forward and reaches over his shoulder to grab something from the box.  He tenses when he realizes she grabbed the picture frame he was trying desperately to avoid.

There’s a certain heavy silence between them as Marcel doesn’t move, freezes in place as she hold it in her hands.

“You were so happy,” She says, and though Marcel can’t see, she’s staring fondly at the photo, “If only we could go back to those years.”

Marcel’s eyes flash and he forces out through his gritted teeth, “I don’t _want_ to go back.”

“But, Harry, your career—”

Marcel snaps his head up at her, reacting at the name he was learned to detest and at her choice of words, green eyes hard behind his glasses and he places his feet on the floor before standing in front of her, towering in form.

“It wasn’t a _career,_ it was a **hobby**.”

His mother doesn’t dare say a word to prove him wrong. She just sighs and stands the picture frame on the nightstand.

“Either way, you can’t deny that you enjoyed it, Harry, just like you can’t deny your name.”

She closes the door behind herself softly.

 

+

 

**Three Hours Later.**

Marcel hears footsteps approaches as they resonate on the stairs leading to his bedroom, and at the lack of clacking, he instantly knows it isn’t his mother.

“Your mum told me to give you time to calm down before I try contacting you,” Zayn says as he enters Marcel’s bedroom, never looking up from his phone, “So I decided to finish my schoolwork before I came over. Would have gotten the schoolwork you missed but if I asked any teacher for it they’d be suspicious.”

When he looks up and sees his line of view if the room, he’s confused, especially by the mess around himself. That is until he sees a figure at the far corner of the room, hugging his legs to his chest loosely as he stares blankly at something.

Zayn follows Marcel’s line of view and when his eyes fall on the picture frame on his nightstand his phone is momentarily forgotten as he drops it onto the carpet below and he crosses the room to flip the frame so it faces downwards. Marcel blinks in surprise and slowly look up to see Zayn.

Zayn sighs and drops in front of Marcel, “Jesus, Marce. What happened?” He doesn’t mention the fact that Marcel opened the box that contained memories of the past two years ago; the box that Marcel had sworn to never open.

In much more brief words, the box of which the photo surely came from.

Marcel doesn’t answer him and Zayn watches as his green eyes slowly water and his eyes begin to blotch up as he reaches under his glasses to wipe his tears to stop them from falling. Zayn reaches and throws his hand from his face. Without hesitation, Marcel throws himself into Zayn’s awaiting arms and finally lets go of the emotions he was trying so hard to restrain. Zayn doesn’t complain once as he caresses the younger boy’s loose hair and murmurs words of comfort.

 

+

 

It’s safe to say that Marcel is not exactly ecstatic to have classes the next day.

He wakes up begrudgingly and, while looking for his phone with his foot (seeing as he prefers to put it on the floor at night), he manages to slam his toe into the foot of the bed. He clenches his teeth and lets out a noise of pain but gently regains his composure as he lets out a sigh.

Thinking that the worst of his morning is done, he moves to have a quick shower, his back hunched over as he walks towards his bathroom with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his yoga pants, only to have his head smash into the doorframe. He cries out and holds his head in his hands.

_“Marcel, are you alright?”_

Marcel grunts loudly in response to let her know he’s alive and groans as he begins stripping in his bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

While he showers shampoo falls into his eyes, his body soap falls onto his toe and his he swallows his face wash. All in all, his day was turning out to be worse than he had initially thought.

Fifteen minutes later, he almost burns the house down despite _actually_ having cooking skills and he couldn’t have been less amused.

_“Honey, it smells like something is burning.”_

_“Marcel? Where you cooking your breakfast?”_

_“That’s it. I’m checking on you.”_

_“MARCEL STYLES. PLEASE EXPLAIN WHY I WALKED INTO THE KITCHEN TO FIND YOUR BREAKFAST ON FIRE AND UNATTENDED.”_

Marcel goes to school that day begrudgingly, with his head down after receiving a lecture from his mother.

 

+

 

_“For your project this partial I want you to form teams of three….”_

_“And so in 1589 it was when he went on his voyage…”_

_“Katelyn, would you mind stop sending hearts to Jackson and please pay attention?”_

_“The square root must be multiplied in order to gain the value of the second term…”_

Marcel has no idea what his first three classes were about. He vaguely remembers writing a short essay about _Frankenstein_ and having students from the back of the class throw paper balls at him, but besides that, all he truly recalls is analyzing the doodles drawn on each of his classes’ desks done by previous owners.

_Coping well?_

_-Z_

Marcel stares at the message for the longest while, trying to think of a vague response to give as everyone around him grab their stuff to go to lunch. He doesn’t want to lie, on one hand, and say he’s even forgotten about what made him act like that in the first place, but yet telling his best friend the truth is out of line. Worrying Zayn into doing something stupid is never an option.

_Haven’t skipped a class yet._

_-M_

Seconds later Marcel’s phone vibrates with another message as he drops his books into his bag. He takes his time, and his professor is watching him wearily as he sees the, what looks to be, friendless lad move slowly out of the classroom, having nowhere to go. As he exits the classroom and makes his way to his locker he unlocks his phone and skims over Zayn’s next message to see the same proposition Zayn always gives him but Marcel always declines without fail.

_Out back. Smoke break. You in?_

_-Z_

_Be right there._

_-M_

+

 

Zayn wordlessly passes Marcel his box of Marlboros when the latter arrives, and as Marcel grabs it and tosses it back he catches it without ease without turning to face the younger boy; but then, as Marcel lights up his cigarette, he can’t help but move his head to stare.

“It’s been a while since you’ve last smoked.” He says, and Marcel tenses, had not seen this coming. Between Zayn and him, inquiring statements were never really held between them if not necessary. They never needed to tell each other what does not concern them. According to Zayn now, that’s not the case.

“I know.” He responds, and he presses the cigarette between his lips again, just to have a reason not to respond any further. Zayn doesn’t say anything else, just looks away and begins to nod slowly, as if accepting the statement.

“Have you considered your agent’s the statement, though?” Zayn suddenly says, and he knows he’s beginning an argument even before he sees Marcel’s fingers tighten around the smoke, “I know you miss it.”

Marcel lets go of his cigarette, doesn’t even watch where it lands as he puts his shoe over it and twists, the paper roll turning into a thin paper and ashes. His jaw is set as he turns towards the person he is starting to doubt even wants the best for him.

“No, I haven’t even _thought_ about it. I don’t plan on entering the industry again. I thought we had already gone past this, Zayn.” And, oh, how Marcel is trying not to lose his temper. Zayn notices too, and doesn’t mention Marcel’s large hand balled into a tight fist, just pushes himself off the wall and tilts his chin slightly more towards the skies: a simple act of defiance.

“How can you know you don’t actually want to go back to working with Danielle and traveling the world if you haven’t even thought of the possibility?”

 _“Mind you own fucking business, Malik.”_ Marcel is practically growling, and normally that is enough of a warning for people to back off considering is isn’t easy to anger him, but Zayn just can’t find enough of a reason not to try and help his friend, even if he thinks he doesn’t need it.

“I just don’t understand why you don’t stop and think—”

“About _what?_ How I almost fucking _died_ last time I tried standing in front of a camera? About how _I almost got sold?_ ” Marcel’s voice is verging on a shriek, and his face is turning a dangerously red color as he steps closer to Zayn and seems to be seconds away from punching him, “You have no fucking idea what is was like! Sitting on cold floor in darkness and having nowhere to crawl to, fucking _trembling_ as hands grab everything and anything. And—” Marcel stops himself abruptly, his mouth about to say something else only to slowly close, and his eyes are shining, holding back unshed tears as he takes a deep breath.

“How about,” He continues, pauses to close his eyes and then focus on Zayn with a determined gaze, “You worry about yourself before landing false accusations.” That’s all Marcel says before taking a step back and turning away to walk back inside the school to class, never looking behind himself.

But, no, Zayn corrects himself, that wasn’t Marcel talking.

It was Harry.

 

+

 

**_Five years before._ **

_“Zayn, love,” His mother says, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”_

_Zayn shrugs, knows that it isn’t and he is sure to detest it by only trying it once but at the same time he knows that, even only at the tender age of thirteen, he has to do some sacrifices for his family. It doesn’t sound too bad, there’s not much he has to do and he is going to get paid well._

_“I’ll be fine.”_

_Rebecca, the woman who saw him walking around the mall and offered him the job, stepped in, her gray hair pulled up in a bun and his lips pressed together is a professional way, the way that says she’s up for no games._

_“Okay, Zayn Malik?” She looks up from her clipboard and raises an eyebrow at him, as if she doesn’t already know who he is. He rolls his eyes, doesn’t really care that she sees and nods._

_“Yes, that’s me.”_

_Rebecca doesn’t act in response to his reaction, just picks up her clipboard higher up her chest to look at it closely, nod once and point her pen towards the right of the large room, where men are finishing up setting up cameras and the white background whom Zayn doesn’t understand. There’s a couple ladies walking around snapping at the workers and demanding utter perfection._

_“ **That** over there is where the session is going to take place,” She glances pointedly towards his mother to make sure she’s listening and his mother stares at her, so Rebecca continues, “But before that we need to get you to hair and make-up with our specialist, Janet.”_

_Zayn’s face twists into an expression of pure revulsion, “Makeup? I’m only thirteen and a **guy.** ” He says, as if it’s necessary to remind her. Rebecca stares at him, not at all amused by the child’s obvious naivety all because of his lack of experience. Thank god she’s dealt with new kids like him before or she would have fired him before they even started. Behind them, Zayn’s mother has been pulled away by an assistant to sign some papers or whatever parents do at this place._

_“I’m aware of that, thank you for the nice little fact, Malik, but this is Gap magazine, not some low-budget weekly fashion blog. There’s steps to go through, and this is one of them so **go** or your chance to be here will be lost.” She snaps and points towards a white door at the end of the hall on the other side of the third lobby._

_Zayn purses his lips, mutters, “You act as if it weren’t **you** who asked me to do this,” but goes anyway._

_The photoshoot is a complete success considering it’s his first one and he was to work with two to three other girls and boys his age. It doesn’t come as a huge surprise when he is told that he is a talented model more than once, and Rebecca calls him back for a second session no more than a week later._

+

 

**Present time.**

The sun is shining fairly bright considering it is still nearing winter and although there’s not enough sunlight to make Zayn squint, he can’t stand the thought of there being any sun today or any other. That is why he decides on wearing sunglasses for the next half of the day after lunch break. He only realizes it isn’t half bad on an idea when he is walking towards his fifth class of the day, and he hears voices coming from inside an empty classroom. It doesn’t take him more than half a second to recognize them.

 _“Louis, I still have his glasses you know. Have you even seen him all day? What is if he’s still walking around blindly?”_ Liam’s voice resonates loud and stress peeking from under his tone, of which Zayn blinks in surprise. It isn’t at all often when Liam Payne talks in anything but indifference and with a hint of arrogance. A snort soon follows his words.

_“Yeah, and what the fuck am **I** supposed to do? Just throw them away or something, they don’t seem to have much prescription on them. He’ll manage. It’s not as if you can go bounding up to him and give them back.”_

Niall’s laugh comes after what Louis says, completely out of place but, well, that’s what he does.

_“No, but **you** can.”_

_“ **See** , Niall’s with me. Just l—wait what? You want me to do **what?** Sorry, must of heard wrong. I don’t think I just heard one of my best mates ask me to fucking walk up to that twat after actually **looking** for him, not to mention **talk** to him.”_

_“You don’t have to! Look, Louis, it’d be so much easier. I mean, I don’t talk to losers, everyone knows that. I just don’t like talking to people who aren’t my friends already, but you go bounding to people randomly all the time! It won’t be weird and all you have to do is give them to him.”_

Their steps start nearing the door and Zayn moves to the other side of the hall, slides on the floor and lolls his head around, as if he were asleep. Nothing incongruous considering he is known for sleeping anywhere at any time. Zayn keeps his eyes trained on the door as it opens, his eyes hidden from view behind the sunglasses as he observes the three figures exiting the classroom.

“Fuck no.”

Louis comes out first, a fag between his fingers as he blows the smoke out into the hallway, but pauses as he sees Zayn on the floor only to relax as he sees it’s only a sagging body. Liam soon follows after the blue eyed boy and wrinkles his nose as Louis continues smoking in plain view of any student or teacher to appear throughout the passageway.

Then comes a noise than hardly resembles something human and well, there enters Niall, of which Liam ignores as the blonde boy continues shoving what seems to be handfuls of popcorn into his mouth, “ _Please,_ Louis. When have I ever asked for anything?”

Louis takes an impressive turn on his heel to turn to Liam and cocks an eyebrow, and from behind them Niall is shoving even more popcorn into his mouth as his eyes shift from Louis to Liam and back, as if watching a particularly interesting soap opera.

“Four years ago you made me blame myself for setting fire to your mother’s petunias because you were too scared you were going to get grounded again for the second time in your life. In year eight you forced me to do your biology project because you wanted to have a good time while you were in the beach without having to worry –you aced that class thanks to me, you’re welcome-. A year ago you convinced me into seducing your date to the school dance to drive her away from you because you thought she was too boring and clingy. Before that, when we went back to Doncaster, you forgot to—”

At this point Liam couldn’t stop cringing and nodded along before deciding to step in, knowing that if he didn’t then Louis would never stop and Liam wouldn’t be able to sleep for reminding himself he’s a terrible friend, and so he sighed rather harshly, running a hand through his hair and actually seeming stressed.

“God, I know, Louis. I am such a terrible friend and I’ll stop asking for favors. I am such an awful person and I hope you forgive me f—”

Louis cuts him off with a groan and shoves Liam back against the wall only to shove his hand into Liam’s jacket pocket to retrieve the glasses he knows were there. Then, as Liam stares in shock and Niall’s hand stays halfway into his mouth, Louis points at his best friend and narrows his eyebrows.

“Reverse phycology, Payne. That’s low.” He turns around and leaves, and Liam and Niall watch as Louis goes in the direction of the main hallway as Zayn fights not to raise his eyebrows because what did just happen.

 

+

 

After his argument with Zayn, Marcel only had one class before he had a free period of which he knew a couple of classes had as well, including Zayn’s. In fear of running into his best friend and failing to ease the inevitable discomfort that was going to occur, he decided to hide somewhere else besides the library, lunchroom and the back of the school.

As he ducks into the football field his hand clenches around the strap of his backpack as he sees a group of teenagers huddled into the far end of it in a circle. Realizing they were younger than him and too far away to talk to him, he continued his voyage onto the bleachers, and once he does he places his backpack onto them and continues to look through to look for his camera he always keeps in his case. He eventually finds it, and promptly drops it when he hears, “Hey, you twit! Next time don’t try hiding too much, yeah?”

Marcel is only left to close his eyes as footsteps sound more and more near to him, and he hopes the voice is talking to someone else even though the voice wasn’t screaming and the nearest people were far, far away to be speaking in normal tone of voice.

“Yet,” The voice comes from only a few inches away now as something falls into the bleachers beside his backpack, “I have to thank you, I guess, for staying away from public places as I gave you this. However, it was you who forgot your bloody extra eyes in the first place.”

Marcel glances from the corner of his eyes to the bleachers where the hard plastic hit as Louis Tomlinson gave him what he meant to. He’s careful to not turn his head, though, and his eyes widen as he realizes they were his old glasses.

“Do you normally give people who are talking to you your back or am I just special? Either way, next time try not being so fucking stupid.”

Marcel still doesn’t speak or turn around, even less try and grab the glasses, only waits until he hears footsteps retreating to reach for the cold spectacles, old in comparison to the ones he’s wearing now. He sits on the bleachers then, and stares into the trees on the far back of the field offhandedly, doesn’t notice his best friend watching him cautiously from a distance.

 

+

 

**Five years before.**

_“Harry Edward Styles, I told you to get dressed hours ago!”_

_His mother is scolding, though Harry knows she’s not angry, just upset. But yet, how can he possibly blame him? She bought him the new Mario Cart edition just **yesterday** and he hasn’t quite played it enough._

_“Sorry, mum.” Either way, he turns on the television and he faces the ground as he sighs in resignation. His mother sighs as well and shoves his shoulder lightly towards the stairs._

_“Go on, Harry. I left your clothes on the hamper. We have to get going or we’re going to be late.”_

_Harry glances up, and his bright green eyes blink up curiously as he cocks his head to one side. His mother now has her back to him, though, as she continues fiddling around in the kitchen, setting the food she prepared aside to cool._

_“Where are we going?” He asks, stalls to not have to wear that terribly itchy sweatshirt he knows she’s picked out because ‘it makes him seem like a small intellectual adult’. His mother murmurs to herself though and offhandedly waves him away, busying herself with the plastic containers that will soon hold the food._

_“To visit Mrs. Malik. You know, Zayn and his mother have just arrived back from London and their father is setting a nice luncheon to welcome them back, of which he has kindly invited us along.”_

_Harry tiptoes to the kitchen, his warm feet touching the cool tiles below him and he forces himself to restrain a shiver as he looks above his mother’s shoulder or, well, tries to. As he jumps a bit from behind her to see, he quickly peers down to the stacks of heated sandwiches and snacks only to involuntarily swallow his saliva in hunger._

_“Zayn?” He asks, and his mother jumps._

_“Yes,” She breathes, briefly closes her eyes as she continues to stack everything away neatly, trying to calm her heart after the scare Harry gave her. She takes a deep breath and continues in a normal tone of voice, “Remember him? You met him what seems likes **years** ago, but was only a few days after we moved here. You never did talk to him again, did you, love?”_

_Harry shakes his head, and tries to take a sandwich while going unnoticed, only to have his mother wave the knife in his direction, trying to slap him away while forgetting she has the offending in her hand. Harry’s eyes widen into a comical size and he quickly shrinks away, doesn’t say anything as his mother grimaces at her lack of attention span (she almost cut off her son’s hand, for Christ’s sake)._

_“I see him around school, mostly, but we’ve never spoken.” He says, shrugs as if it doesn’t bother him and shakes his head roughly to straighten his glasses again, as they had crooked as his alarmed leap._

_Then, in the calmest tone of voice, she says, “Harry, love, weren’t you supposed to go get dressed?” And Harry quickly goes ahead and runs up the stairs to say as done before she chops him up into pieces (he loves her but one could only wonder where her responsiveness goes while she nearly decapitates people)._

_Fifteen minutes later Harry finds himself in the most awkward situation as he sits in the balcony of the Malik residence aside of Zayn himself, who has grown a considerable amount considering that, in contrast to just a year ago, he seems a bit… younger now. Now he seems elder, **mature**. As if Zayn’s not thirteen, but two years more._

_Harry, in the meantime, has just confirmed that growing up weakens your social skills as well, considering last time Zayn was actually **good** at topics of conversation from that one and only time they talked but now whenever either of them try to start a discussion it persists for about four minutes before it fades into silence of which later on they both find themselves shifting in discomfort little after._

_Meanwhile his mother and Zayn’s are animatedly talking and laughing along with each other’s jokes that aren’t really funny as Mr. Malik nods along and smiles as he watches them converse, a man of few words much like Zayn himself. Harry dislikes Mr. Malik at that moment for giving his son that trait._

_Zayn’s sisters are running along the house and laughing as they play with their food (thank god their mother is momentarily distracted), not really seeming to care that after two days of their brother being gone and in London with his mother, he’s back. Zayn doesn’t seem to care either, and just rolls his eyes when the youngest of his sisters randomly approaches him and stains his nose with food._

_Harry continues fiddling with his glass of water and reaching it to take a gulp every once in a while as he waits for something to happen, something he does when he doesn’t know what else to do. Anything to drag away the awkwardness clear in the air which only he and Zayn seem to have._

_In that moment he hears something come from his mother that catches his attention and he blinks into his wake, stares at his mother and Zayn’s as he says, “Zayn’s a model?” And even he catches the wonder in his own tone. He knew there were male models, of course, but he thought they were, well, **older.** Then he realizes what he just said was ridiculous, because **of** **course** Zayn would be, regardless of his age._

_After all, how could he not be when he has faint features of a teenager and deep eyes and long eyelashes which compliment his sharp edges? Even at only his age, Harry sees much more in Zayn, contrary to Harry, who only has his bald head, braces and a crooked smile._

_Zayn’s mother laughs lightly, smiles at him warmly, “Yes, actually. He’s occasionally called back into Gap magazine every once in a while, which is why we were in London.” And though Harry hates to admit it, he feels stupid as he realizes he’s celebrating the return of two people, but not knowing what they were returning from._

_Nonetheless, that doesn’t stop him from turning to his right and blinking a couple time at Zayn though, who’s leaning against the table to grab another dessert plate to place a piece of pie. His cheeks are suspiciously pink._

_“You actually appear in a **magazine?** ” Harry continues, and even pushes his glasses farther up his nose. Zayn shrugs and seems, for the most part, invested in his food._

_“Sometimes, I guess. Barely even noticeable.”_

_Zayn gives Harry a pointed look as he says this in a mumble, as if to say **‘nothing worth sharing to others, especially in school’,** and Harry’s mouth gapes open before closing again as he realizes, Zayn’s **embarrassed.**_

_“He was on two full-length photos last issue.” Mrs. Malik puts in, not lacking of pride, and Zayn flushes even more if possible. Mr. Malik smiles at his son, though, and that’s all Zayn needs to have his mortification fade a bit more._

_“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Ms. Styles says and genuinely seems almost as delighted as Zayn’s mother. Harry smiles along._

_“I think it’s super cool too! I mean, you get paid for being pretty!” Harry doesn’t really think as he says it and there’s laughs, Zayn chokes on his pie._

_“Well, Harry,” Mrs. Malik says, and Harry turns to her to find her smiling, “Maybe you should do it as well. You might get lucky with those wonderful eyes of yours.”_

_And Harry smiles back because, yeah, he would, if only he were pretty enough._

 

+

 

Marcel carefully puts his stuff away and sets his camera hidden in his bag between his book and his jacket, and stands up, refuses to let his past memories come back to him, of those happy days before he decided modeling didn't seem like half a bad idea.


	3. Introductions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT:  
> Here all I practically do is give you images of each of the members and their physical appearance because let's be honest, we all love visuals. Here you can see, considering all five main characters are in high school here, how each of them portray their personality from their appearance.  
> In other words, I went on Google and chose photos that fit.  
> In Harry and Zayn's case though, you can see their changes in appearance through the years. Please have these in mind and come back here when you find it most necessary. You can see in Harry and Zayn's collage the differences between each time lapse:  
> a) As kids (before Harry started modeling in his case, and when Zayn started modeling in his).  
> b) When they continued modelling throughout the years (as in, you can see a photo of each of them while doing so).  
> c) You can also see photos of them going to school everyday (as 'Marcel' in Harry's case).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep these in mind and thank you for reading!   
>  -Alex


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Liam begs Louis to return Marcel's glasses because he can't risk being seen with a nerd. When Louis does Marcel doesn't even see his face. Zayn pisses Marcel off because he tries to get Marcel to consider the offer his old agent gave him. Marcel's past memories come back to him and, really, he just wants to be left alone.

_Harry was twelve years old when Zayn started talking to him again. After the luncheon celebrating another photoshoot of Zayn’s to be featured into the London Gap magazine Harry’s mother had retreated inside into the Malik household along with Mrs. Malik herself to talk about whatever it is middle-aged women talk about (Harry thinks knitting techniques and ‘oh, how our boys grow up so fast!’)._

_Zayn’s father had silently stood up and nodded once at them with a smile as he also left to go inside, being a quiet man who probably doesn’t want to spend his time trying to make conversation with a pair of kids in primary school, and talking about kids, Zayn’s sibling were off somewhere probably shrieking over how one of them pulled the hair of the other. All in all, Zayn and Harry are left on the balcony seated alone with the presence of no one but each other on the large table and Zayn shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he looks anywhere but to his left where the green eyes boy is seated._

_Meanwhile Harry is biting on his bottom lip and looking around the balcony, though to be honest there’s not much to look at besides many flora species so his way of having something to do has no avail. Once he realizes this he opens his mouth to crack one of knock knock jokes (he’s been told they are marvelous icebreakers) when Zayn speaks first._

_“It’s not—I don’t do it for fun, you know.” Harry turns his head and looks at Zayn and his eyes are curious._

_“Huh?” Harry admits he’s always been this eloquent._

_“I don’t exactly enjoy modeling. I mean, I’m not like a girl who likes posing for cameras.” Zayn shrugs and Harry refrains himself from asking, ‘why wouldn’t you? Isn’t it fun?’._

_“Why do you do it then?” He asks instead and Zayn shrugs again, never looks up through his eyelashes at Harry while his head is bent down towards the table._

_“I can’t properly work yet and a lady walked up to me and offered me a place in the magazine. I wanted to earn my own money.”_

_“It is a proper job though.” Harry argues, and his eyebrows furrow as he pushes his thick glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He watches as Zayn pushes his hair out of his eyes at the same time and feels a flash of envy at the prospect of having medium length hair and actually pulling it off. Harry’s mum is always telling him that having long hair is too much of a hassle and that Harry’s hair isn’t the type you’d want long._

_Zayn then shakes his head and shrugs.  Harry realizes he likes doing that a lot. As the green eyed twelve year old watches the teenager sigh, he decides to drop the subject._

_The thing is, usually when you barely meet a person, if it isn’t that right away you find something to talk about, you eventually do and the awkwardness of the initial part of your conversation fades away. Worst yet, that isn’t the case with Zayn. Zayn’s awfully quiet and practically makes it that every attempt of Harry’s to make them talk more comfortably a complete fail while Harry is anything but an uncooperative person. After all, he’s known by his friends as someone who you can never really be bored with. Zayn’s making it hard for Harry to actually let him know this._

_“It must be cool, standing in front of a camera and just standing there.” Harry ends up whispering, and his eyes bore onto the table in front of him. Zayn snorts and Harry jumps in his seat, turns his way._

_“What?” Harry asks, defensive suddenly. Zayn smiles at him and Harry blinks, startled. Back when they were younger Harry had only seen Zayn smile a couple times but it’s different now, because now he has cheekbones and brighter eyes and a hint of shyness there wasn’t before. Harry wonder how suddenly becoming a model can change you so much (or maybe it was puberty but really it’s all the same)._

_“It’s kind of hard to enjoy it when your smiles are fake and there’s this old man snapping at you to keep your hat from falling.” Harry laughs, and Zayn seems surprised to hear this laugh as well. Harry’s throat constructs as he laughs and snorts at the same time, his nose scrunches so far up Zayn can practically see inside his nostrils, and Harry’s out-of-place dimples flash. The thing is, Harry has never really been self-conscious. Sure, he knows he has imperfections just like anyone else (well, maybe his extra third nipple is a bit of a loose tie) but he has always known that lingering on them won’t do anything. They can’t magically disappear (and, okay, he can probably have a nose job or surgery to remove his extra part but it’s not like he’s actually going to do something like that) and he could say he has learned to embrace them but that’s a lie._

_Something Harry’s mum and family and even friends love about the bald boy in the thick glasses is that he’s never even had a problem with his physical appearance (though Harry’s sister **did** have a problem with it when he’d walk around stark naked and she’s shriek so loud the neighbors came running to check if she was hurt) and though he isn’t completely happy with them he just shrugs it off._

_Zayn doesn’t know this yet, though, and he stares as Harry’s laugh lowers, and his eyes are bright, bright, bright as he stares at the older boy and asks for more, “You have a **photographer.** What else do you do? Do you meet other pretty girls? Do you get to talk to them?”_

_Zayn smirks, “Yeah, the girl models and really pretty. A bit rude sometimes, though, but only rarely,” With a shrug he continues, “They like the spotlight, I guess.”_

_And just like that Harry asks question after question, all of which Zayn replies with a smile and Harry makes him **laugh twice.** How cool is that? It’s a nice change, Zayn thinks, being able to be open about what he does when he’s not at school without being afraid to be mocked at by his classmates. Instead Harry listens to his every word with attentive eyes and nods vigorously when Zayn finishes his sentences with, ‘right?’._

_+_

_On Monday Zayn’s actually a bit afraid when he enters the school the first thing that will be said to him is, “Oi, look! There’s the Zayn doll! Where’s your make-up, Malik?” along with all his schoolmates to start laughing at him, but it never comes. He sighs in relief as he make his way through the halls and when he sees Harry passing by with a wide smile directed at everyone, his friends surrounding him as he tells them about that one Godzilla movie that he saw last night, he catches Zayn’s eyes and his smile widens even more as he waves. While facing the floor Zayn smiles and waves back._

_+_

“Hey, watch where you’re going freak!” Marcel has been called many things ever since he was a child, though through time they have changed along with the way he’d receive them.

As a kid, for example, he was called _‘girly’_ because he liked wearing bright colors that went along with his bright personality and he was also called ‘ _stupid_ ’ because he sometimes confused the real world with fantasy (like that one time in the second grade he argued with a fourth grader over whether wizards were real only to be sent to the headmaster’s office because, quote, they were ‘concerned over whether Harry’s capable from distinguishing reality from all those sci-fi movies you let him see so often, Ma’am’). Marcel had minded those words a lot, and had cried in his room a bit as he remembered his whole classroom laughed and chanting, “Stupid, stupid. Stupid Harry. Stupid, stupid. Stupid Harry”, but then he felt better when his friends would get annoyed and told them to leave him alone.

(By the way, it turned out they were wrong. Harry is, in fact, completely mentally stable and not crazy.)

By the time he was a teenager he started being called a ‘fag’ (‘cocksucking asshole’, ‘anal freak’, ‘penis princess’) because of his job, and ‘anorexic’ because apparently he’s _too fucking skinny_ and Marcel just wants to scream in frustration because the people who would say that about him would be those who had never even seen him in anything but in clothes line advertisements, therefore had only seen the photoshopped version of him. It’s true Marcel is thin, and it’s true that he had to stay that way to keep his job, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t eat at any given time. Back then he didn’t really care what he was called, because he wasn’t the only one, and with Zayn by his side not ever giving a shit about other people’s opinions that weren’t their superiors, Marcel would feel better about himself. He stuck to that.

And now, now ‘freak’ is as far as creativity has gone, apparently. Marcel, who was really just standing by his locker doing nothing but quietly fitting in the books he wouldn’t need and ignoring the sniggers that he’d get for his choice of words, choice of personality and friendless persona. It was fine, really, until a shoulder slammed into his and he fell onto the ground, his nearly empty backpack falling beside him as his new glasses dug into the bridge of his nose. Hence the voice of someone Marcel didn’t want to hear at all calling him a freak as laughs surrounded him.

When Marcel stands up he glances at Louis Tomlinson’s retreating back and mumbles under his breathe, is going to grab his backpack only to suddenly have a foot kicking it across the hall. Looking up, he sees Liam Payne smile proudly at the louder laughs he provokes and Marcel stays still until they all walk away to their next class. With a defeated sigh, he drags himself to get his backpack, walks back, gets the books he needs and slams his locker.

On his way to English he gets a text though, and there’s only three people who have that number so he’s only a bit surprised to see Zayn’s name at the top of the text.

_Meet me at the back. ASAP._

Marcel sighs, knows it’s not a good idea considering they haven’t been on speaking terms since Marcel got angry at him for bringing up what he’s been trying to avoid for a while now. He also knows that Zayn would be giving him space after what happened, so the fact that now he’s asking him to skip a class and meet him at the field is a bit out of place, and Marcel knows he has to go.

“Zayn.” He says as he nears the hunched form leaning on the back, facing the footie team that had started to train. Thankfully they were too far away to be noticed or distinguished. Easing his way into Zayn’s back pocket, Marcel takes out the cigarettes and takes the lighter Zayn offers him. If his agent could only see him now, he thinks. Danielle would surely start yelling at him and start a lecture about the care he should take of his teeth. He doesn’t care anymore though.

 

+

 

_“Do you think she’ll like me?” Harry asks, his wide eyes genuinely worried and curious. Zayn glanced at him and took his bottom lip into his mouth, biting harshly. He knew that having Harry meet his agent to ask whether they had a place for him in modelling was sort of a rash decision in itself but he already promised Harry he’d do it so there was no going back. He knew it wasn’t going to end well though._

_Harry wanted to win money of his own now, since he found his mother barely smiling when she’d arrive from her work, only forcing a smile when she’d catch Harry staring at her with his eyes furrowed and the very enigma of the most worried person there is. He knew money was tight right now, and the green eyed boy wanted to do his best to help and if trying to convince Zayn’s agent to let him model is the only way then he will, with his mother’s permission or not. She doesn’t have to know until he brings an envelope of money home and sets it on the table (Zayn and him have already made of plan of how to make the modelling agency believe he had her authorization)._

_Zayn just nods quickly though, not being able to lie for much longer because, as much as Harry is beautiful in soul, his smile and his personality, that isn’t what these people care about. Harry, at age thirteen, has barely entered his teenage years and therefore has recently gotten his growth spurt which means that, unlike Zayn who had always had more even features naturally (so photoshop wasn’t very necessary on him), Harry now has long limbs to contrast his bug-like features as well as hair as short as it was before, not even reaching his eyebrows. Also, as lovely as his eyes and smile is, he isn’t the image Gap wants for teenagers. He isn’t long hair, and attractive smirks. He isn’t a confident quirk of lips, or well ‘ **hot.** ’ Harry’s sweet, cute, a flower child almost. He’s confident in himself enough to only crack random (terrible) jokes and seems to blush a lot._

_When Zayn and Harry arrive to London (courtesy of Harry’s mother letting him go for the weekend to visit the headquarters along with Mrs. Malik), Zayn drags Harry to see Rebecca. Once expressing Harry’s desire to begin modelling, Rebecca looks Harry over with what seems to be a grimace._

_And, really, considering how harsh the gray-haired woman can be (“Zayn, go back to get your hair fixed. You look terrible”, “What are you even **doing?** Are you trying to be the joke of the company?”, “I might as well fire you if you’re going to keep looking like that—yes, Zayn, I know that’s your face but could you at least **try** to make it enjoyable to look at?”) Zayn is surprised by how **curt** she is when she simply stares at Harry from the top of his head to his shoes, back up, and simply says, “Get back to me when his limbs are in proportion and his hair is longer.”_

_Harry looks disappointed, yes, over not being as beautiful as Zayn himself, but he handles the rejection with such glee that Zayn admires and they move on._

_Also, Harry somehow convinced his mother to let him grow out his hair without any reason he’d give whatsoever besides the lame ‘I want to feel my head warm’ but that’s another part of the story._

+

 

“Marce, hey.” Zayn responds, and Marcel realizes Zayn’s finished his cigarette and seems to not be in the mood for another.

This is the first time since they got in an argument that they’ve talked, and Marcel doesn’t know whether he should be grateful he seems to have his friend back (even though he never really left) or slightly discouraged by the fact that it took an event to bring them together again. It’s obvious by Zayn’s expression that it’s not good news.

“It’s good news,” Zayn says, and Marcel waits for what comes next, “But only for me.” There it is.

“What is it this time?” Marcel asks, and he leans besides Zayn, watches as small figures play footie far away, and he squints as he tries his best to distinguish the blobs of blue and white. He’s not bitter, he’s not, but Zayn could have prepared him ( _Isn’t that what he’s doing this moment?_ Harry needs to bring his thoughts into order).

“I’m going back.”

Marcel blinks.

“Back?”

Zayn sighs, runs a hand through his loose hair and ruffles it in a practiced move of stress. He seems to be yearning for another cigarette but makes no move to grab one, instead moves his hands to clench by his sides. Marcel then speaks again, “Back on the runway?” He forces his voice not to crack and clenches his jaw once he sees Zayn nod.

“Yeah.” He confirms.

“You know that this time there’s no coming back, right?” Marcel asks quietly, “If you start again you’ll be sent directly into Paris to model the greatest fashion lines and you’ll get amazing offers. The ones that you once turned down will to impossible to. You’ll make a name for yourself.”

“You easily could as well,” Zayn responds, just as quietly, “We could start all over again and do what we did before _like_ we did it before, but better.” Before Zayn finishes what he’s saying Marcel’s already shaking his head.

“That’s exactly what I don’t want.”

 

+

 

_Harry starts modeling at the age of fourteen._

_By the year Harry turned thirteen, Harry’s hair had grown considerably longer that it he were to straighten it, it would almost reach his shoulder but Harry’s mother complains that his once straight hair has started frizzing and ‘Harry, dear, **please** let me take you to a hair stylist. An afro isn’t a good look, love’. Harry, despite starting to feel conscious about how he looks in order to attract girls (he’s in the age), heatedly refused._

_Harry then turned fourteen, and Zayn pointed out once when they were at his house, Harry recently have gotten out of Zayn’s shower after being in the pool, that Harry’s hair seemed to curl if he let it dry natural. Harry, amazed by the way it worked as he started into the mirror in wonder, agreed._

_Now, by then Harry has left behind his glasses, you see, and after losing his glasses two times in the span of a year his mother decided buying him contacts could be a better option. So, Harry the adorable loser everyone seemed to like with the bald head and the ridiculous glasses is now Harry the adorable loser with long curls framing his face and green eyes that light up at whatever he stares. It isn’t a bad look, girls would notice, and instead of smiling kindly as Harry enthusiastically waved from the other side of the hall as they constantly did before, this time their cheeks tint pink as they shyly wave back._

_Harry Styles is not oblivious to the new reactions he gets from the female population._

_Naturally, Harry’s already open personality lacking of any shame whatsoever turns more of an open personality basking on the attention he receives. That’s not to say Harry began acting like a downright douche, more like he started caring more about his female friends than male. Zayn, his best friend, was there to watch it all but all he’d do was smile from a distance and shake his head as he laughed silently._

_“Harry Styles, playboy,” Zayn laughs, and he lets it slide as he sees Harry ‘sneak’ his hand onto his tray of food to steal one of his chips, “Didn’t know you had it in you, kid.” Harry wrinkles his nose, because Zayn **knows** he hates it when he reminds him he’s younger than Zayn (by a mere year but whatever)._

_“Oh, fuck off. You know they’re just friends.” Harry says, because they are, and maybe those friends like having his attention and maybe Harry’s change of personality into a more charming teenager has attracted even more attention but **for fuck’s sake,** Harry knows that Zayn still knows he watches cartoons all day every Saturday and has a teddy bear he’s had since he was four named Frank._

_When Harry gets to see Rebecca, once agreeing to accompany Zayn to London for the most recent issue (“Because I always get bored between shoots and the other teens there are sort of hard to talk to. Besides, Harry, you don’t have anything better to do than watch Dora la Exploradora to ‘learn Spanish.’” +Sidenote: Zayn does in fact bring his fingers in the air to do the quotation marks as Harry pouts in indignation) Rebecca doesn’t react as much, glancing at Harry and with her remarkable memory she recognizes him as the boy of two years ago with the buzzcut. She seems as if she expected as much and when Zayn gets Rebecca alone he asks about giving Harry a place in the magazine._

_Rebecca doesn’t react well and snaps at Zayn about the difference between looking for people with talent and no need for capacitation (she tells Zayn that the group Zayn was in that were chosen off the street were just part of a special occasion) and charity cases. After a long monologue of how she just doesn’t **do** charity cases Zayn asks for her to give recommendations of Harry to other magazines if she wasn’t going to do anything about it._

_“Do it yourself.” She had snapped, and turned on her heel before clicking away, leaving Zayn to sigh in frustration and hope Harry doesn’t remember of his wish two years ago enough to want to ask Rebecca himself about the place in the magazine._

_Harry doesn’t seem to remember, and as he watches Zayn change from pose to pose from behind the camera and pulling the most hilarious faces, he seems to really enjoy himself._

_That night Zayn looks through the photos he has saved on his laptop, looking for the ones he has of Harry of when he was going through his ‘photography is my passion’ phase. He finds many, picks the best and sends them to Rebecca via email, even though he’s quite sure she’ll have his head the next time he sees her._

_She doesn’t respond, and it’s exactly what Zayn fears._

_Except the next time he **does** see her she snaps at him, and tells him that several small and new magazines that are still experimenting are interested in working with Harry._

_Zayn would have hugged Rebecca but he’s fairly sure if he did he’d lose his job._

 

+

 

“When are you leaving?” Marcel asked, and his fingers are trembling as he sets his backpack on the floor. Zayn stares ahead, watches as the team runs laps and do drills.

“Friday, at evening.” He responds evenly.

“London?”

“New York City.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.”

Marcel sits down on the floor and Zayn follows him as they stay in silence. Marcel’s lost in his thoughts and Zayn is as well. Both can’t really believe they’re going to be separated again, after Marcel had just moved back to Manchester. For a moment Marcel can’t believe that he thought moving back to Manchester would have been a good idea. It was where everything had started, where he met Zayn and how he got his first job staring at a camera. Now Zayn’s moving out of the country, _continent._

He recognizes a lot of people from school, though he always refused to acknowledge it. Back when he was still in his preteen years along with his first years as a teenager he used to get so much attention with his fun attitude and newfound charming confidence, but now he finds himself facing those same girls that he considered his best friends, but now instead of them always greeting him with batted eyelashes and lingering hugs, he sees those sweet girls all grown up in college sneering at him. It’s just as he thinks that when he hears female voices nearing and he tenses with Zayn. The voices were nearing and Harry and Zayn couldn’t be seen together, they just _couldn’t._

“Do you guys remember Jean Franklin?” A female voice drawls and there’s a light gasp.

“Oh god, _yes._ He moved away in the fifth grade, right?” Another voice replies.

“Yeah! I hear he moved to the States, from what my mum told me.” There’s a third voice and Marcel squeezes his eyes shut, hopes for the best and he can tell Zayn has stopped breathing, even took out his cigarette.

“And then there’s Genevieve, the girl who spit on Carmen’s hair?” Marcel stops because now, now he knows why he recognized the second voice.

“ _Shut up,_ Lin!” Carmen says, and it’s clear by her tone of voice that she’s embarrassed and Linda snorts, it seems, the voices getting even louder. Marcel turns to face at Zayn in panic, not knowing what to do, and Zayn seems just as lost. They have nowhere to go without being noticed, trapped between three walls.

_Carmen. Linda._

“Oh, yeah! She was in my classroom for like, three years straight.” The third voice says.

It seems Marcel’s past has come back to bite him at the ass. Marcel holds back a snort. He always would laugh at those who used the expression.

“Oh, I know! Harry! Harry Styles! Remember him?” Linda exclaims. Marcel chokes on his breathe and Zayn spares him a worrying glance. They both know what’s coming. There’s a long pause and then,

“Oh. My God. _Yes._ I remember him, of course I remember him.”

“Only because you had a crush.” Victoria seems to tease.

“He was _cute._ ” Carmen says. There’s laughs, and now Zayn’s expression seems to express a cross between desperation and amusement.

“Don’t worry, Carm. We all fancied Harry at least once in our sorry lives. That fucking charming asshole.”

“I wonder how he’s doing…?”

“I wouldn’t know. He and Zayn just disappeared, you guys _know_ that.”

“Hmm, I bet he’s really attractive by now, even more than before. And, like, _hot._ ”

“I wonder why Zayn came back alone if he left with Harry. And why he’s so, well, _creepy_ now. Like, what the fuck? He’s going to an extreme emo phase and honestly it’s disgusting. He never was like that when Harry was here.”

“Maybe we should ask him about Harry, you know. Just to know how he’s doing?” Carmen says this, and she seems hesitant with the words. There are scoffs.

“Oh _please,_ if we were to go into Zayn’s personal bubble he’d have our heads and hang them in front of his house to scare intruders away. He’s a _freak._ ” Marcel swallows, with anger over their words or distress, he doesn’t know.

“True, but you know. Maybe we can get Harry’s phone number or something. He was like, _awesome_ and sweet, and would make the most ridiculous jokes and he was _so attractive._ I mean, for being a fourteen year old.”

“Yeah, we know, Vicky. We were there.”

“Just saying, Harry Edward Styles is a person I’d fancy again if I were to see him no doubt.”

“ _Victoria._ ”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Carm, you fancied him once and never got over it, yeah okay, but leave enough of him for us.”

Marcel feels like throwing up, being treated like a rag doll, pulled from one side to another in a tug-o-war. He hates it and sits still as he feels Zayn staring at him.

“Oh, look! The football team’s in practice and Louis’ there. _Sexy._ ”

The walk off, never reach Zayn and Marcel’s spot and he sighs in relief, but in a strained matter. The fact that those three girls who had always treated him as if he were a prince back then and seemingly still seemed to think back at Harry fondly were the same people who treat Marcel like a person who deserves to kill himself is too much to handle and he sags against Zayn. He isn’t too surprised at their rude nature though. They only started talking to him when he turned thirteen and grew out his stupid curls.

 

+

 

This happens on a Wednesday.

 

+

 

On Thurday Marcel skips class, and his mother understands. He goes to Zayn’s place and helps him finish packing, rechecks his plane ticket and declines the offer to skip class again the next day made by his mother.

Zayn watches a movie with him and even lets Marcel pick. They laugh, they bring back old jokes of theirs and Marcel doesn’t even flinch when Zayn mentions Nick Grimshaw.

He does, however, when Zayn accidentally calls Marcel ‘Harry’ and immediately apologizes. Marcel tells him it’s fine as long as it doesn’t happen again and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

+

 

On Friday Zayn does to school but only to set some things straight with the headmaster about his leaving, and review some papers that he’ll need in the States related to school. He doesn’t actually enter any class, so he doesn’t see Marcel at all considering the other one is with the rest of the school in their own classes.

Zayn ends up needing to call his mother to ask about a small detail the Headmaster, and after finds himself wandering the halls of the school savoring the place without knowing whether this time he’s ever coming back. Bored out of his mind and starting to run the tips of his fingers against the cold metal of the lockers, he suddenly hears voices nearing with every step he took.

“Nah, mate, not my style.”

“Oh, come on, Tomlinson. Team captain for a reason, aren’t you? Stop acting like such a wanker.”

From Zayn place at the end of the hall he sees Louis Tomlinson move his head in a way that signals the way he rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, just fuck off and let me go on my way.”

“What, Louis, afraid you might _like it?_ ” The team member snickers, and Louis’ who had his back to Zayn as he moves to walk the opposite direction, freezes and with tense movements faces the senior again, narrows his eyes.

“What? You think I’m a _fag_ now?” Louis hisses and Zayn raises an eyebrows as he inches to lean against the wall, watching in unfold in front of him and just enjoying the drama, not even trying to hide himself. If they notice him fine, if they don’t whatever.

The teammate shrugs with a wry smile on his face, twisted and disgusting, “Just saying, Tommo, there’s nothing to be afraid of unless you like dick. All you have to do to blow Malik and have us film it. The whore probably wouldn’t think about saying no to you, being capt’n and all. I hear he’d go on his knees himself for anyone, likes to take it up the ass too.”

Louis snorts, responds, “Why the fuck would I want the poof’s cock down my throat exactly?”

Zayn’s doesn’t tense, doesn’t dramatically gasp at the word he has been called _so many fucking times_ by magazines and rival modeling agencies, can’t stand the word ever since those he trusted with his life hissed it at him with utter disgust once coming out to them.

Zayn doesn’t tremble in anger, he doesn’t curl his hand into a fist slowly or clench his jaw. All he experiences is red. He sees only red, and as he strolls up calmly to the teammate and Louis Tomlinson, he doesn’t think twice before aiming towards Louis’ nose.

 

+

 

Marcel’s already having a shit day, knowing his best friend is leaving that day in a couple hours, and Marcel will probably never see him again. Unlike last time he and Zayn had left together, and Zayn had returned alone, they had kept in contact. This time they’ll promise too, send each other text messages every second they can and Skype three times a day, but slowly they’ll grow tired and grow out of the habit. They'll start apologizing for not being in contact the day before, and promise to make it up for them in a Skype session, only to have awkward silences follow by doing so. Then, they’ll just stop. And Marcel will no longer have a best friend.

This is what Marcel had been thinking about while his maths teacher rambled on about the functions of trigonometry and all. He had a pencil in his hand as he twirled it, getting disgusted glances by just doing so by the girl who was forced to sit beside him because there was no other seat.

He is friendless as he is, cut himself out of the lives of the friends he made while working, and losing Zayn as well is too much. He’s the only friend he’s had from the start, after all. The only person beside his sibling and mother that he’d take a bullet for.

Walking towards his locker and opening the damn door (it takes time to manage to throw it open, and has taken time ever since he was shoved against it so hard once that it dented), he shoves his books inside and sighs as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. Sadly, they end up falling off his face completely when someone’s shoulder smashes against his own quite hard as the person runs, and doesn’t bother to turn to check if Marcel’s alright.

“Where’s the stampede, Payne?” Someone jokes, and once Marcel realizes it was Liam Payne that brutally shoved him, he turns.

Liam just grins at the person who asked and points at a particular point in front of his as he continues his way, only jogging this time, “Heard Louis’ in a fight with Malik. Can’t miss it.” He laughs, and keeps running, taking out his phone as he goes either to prepare to videotape it or let everyone else know about the event.

Marcel just stops what he’s doing and murmurs and ‘ _Oh god_ ’ under his breathe. Shoving his backpack in his locker along with his books, he slams his locker closed and joins the newfound group of people excitedly going the way Liam had been running.

“Fucking asshole!” Louis Tomlinson does not sound happy, and once Marcel catches eye of him from over someone’s shoulder (only just for a millisecond considering the vastly large amount of people surrounding them), he doesn’t look happy as well judging by the scowl on his face and the ( _oh god_ ) blood dripping from his face consistently.

“What was that about how _fags_ can’t punch, Tomlinson? You might want to say it a bit louder.” Zayn sounds truly, truly pissed.

“Need something to prove, _princess?_ ” Louis mocks, and people laugh, others are just hollering for him to ‘knock Malik out already, Tommo! What are you waiting for?’, only Louis and Zayn both have the same amount of blood on their body so it’s safe to say it’s an even match considering Zayn obviously has size at his advantage but while he’s in shape because of his job, Louis actually does exercise.

“Hard to believe you’d say that, Tomlinson, seeing as you were considering sucking my cock.” Zayn, responds just as fiercely, only without an inch of humor in his voice unlike Louis.

Louis lunges, everyone cheers, only Zayn’s one step ahead and he manages to sidestep the attack, slamming Louis against the locker. As Marcel forcefully pushes people out of the way as he gets glares by elbowing people, he hears Zayn hiss at the blue eyes boy, “Dreams coming true, _Tommo_?”

Scoffing, Louis pushes Zayn off of him and sends Zayn stumbling back, “Try not to get a boner, _poof_.” Oh, _that’s_ what had Zayn so angry.

Louis then takes the opportunity as Zayn is momentarily blinded by anger, having already figured out that the slur angered Zayn to no end, and he slams Zayn against the floor before kicking his stomach and Zayn doubles in pain. As he tries his best to get up, coughing and gasping, Louis kicks his again and slams his foot to Zayn’s head, smashing his head against the school tiles.

_And he doesn’t stop._

Zayn, covered in even more blood and struggling to breathe, still weakly tries his best to stop Louis’ assaults but the other boy shows no mercy. No one makes a move to help Zayn.

Marcel hears a voice with and Irish accent yell ‘Louis!’ in horror it seems, at what Louis’ doing but Marcel’s quicker and he takes a few steps to kick Louis’ knees, slam him on the floor and hiss to his bloody face, “ _Try that again, Tomlinson._ ”

Along with Louis’ actions, the whole world stops.

 

+

 

_No, no, no. What the **fuck** are you doing, Louis?_

There are many things going through Liam’s mind, but that’s the main thing at the moment, the one screaming thought as he stares in horror at Louis’ actions.

He has anger clear in his eyes, his jaw is clenched and he isn’t even trying to make his kicks to Malik’s stomach a bit bearing. It seems as if he couldn’t care less if he killed Malik, and honestly, he looks like an animal. Malik groans and tries to turn to his side only to have Louis aim a kick to his fucking _head,_ as Louis aims for the same spot as if targeting to breaks ribs. As Louis mutters insults under his breath, Liam.

Well, Liam stays in place.

But, he thinks, if he stays in place but hopes someone else goes to help Malik that doesn’t make him much of a bad person, right? What does _he_ have to go help a guy who couldn’t care less about him? Why does it have to be him to save Malik from his best friend? He doesn’t. Doesn’t have to, that is. He’s just as responsible as anyone else watching, so he is entitled to wait for someone else to help as everyone else. He’s fine.

But then Zayn groans again, blood fills his face, his head and his body and Liam flinches, looks away. Everyone else looks amazed, but not scared. They don’t care what’s happening to Malik right now, only care to know Louis at the top right now.

“Louis, what the fuck?” Niall barely arrived to the scene.

As Liam looks back, the hallway is quiet save for a couple cheers as they watch Louis, wild like an animal. Someone with shiny hair and glasses suddenly crosses from between the wide range of people around as if to do something and Liam is relieved, until he sees who it is and realizes Louis’ going to make a double kill today.

Liam notices he’s not the only person thinking this as he hears someone hiss, “Fuck, the nerd kid’s on a suicide mission. Who the hell does he think he is?” People around nod slowly with wide eyes. It all seems like a movie.

Only Marcel doesn’t hesitate at all as he topples Louis to the ground and he curls his hand into a fist with Louis’ collar in it, leans close enough to have their noses touching and everyone holds their breath, amazed. Some, including Liam, manage to hear Marcel’s dare… _threat_.

“Try that again, _Tomlinson._ ”

Louis seems surprised as well, only his eyes recover and narrow and he shoves Marcel’s hand off him and pushes him away. Blood is still drying on his face and unlike what everyone predicted, Marcel doesn’t cower. Quite the opposite, he stands tall and once Louis’ on his feet again, fists curled, Marcel doesn’t hesitate to aim to his cheek.

Louis hits the lockers with a loud bang and a couple people flinch, others gape, the fight goes on.

As Marcel stands in front of Zayn protectively, towering in form over Louis, it’s safe to say Marcel’s already winning.

 

+

 

“What the fuck were you _thinking._ ” Zayn isn’t even holding back.

“A thank you would be nice,” Marcel mutters, playing with his glasses as he struggles to clean the lenses with the edge of his shirt, fingers trembling, “You know, after I sort of saved you.” He puts on his glasses, glances at Zayn and looks back down. Zayn’s glaring at him.

“Yeah, you also managed to ruin your fucking life. Ha—Marcel, I’m _leaving_ today. I could have taken it, because I would have left everyone here behind and gotten over it,” Zayn’s exasperated, and Marcel notices his fingers are twitching, meaning he’s aching for a cigarette. Zayn’s also wincing as he talks because his whole body hurts, including his jaw and his head is pounding, “Mar, you blew your cover by just helping me. You do realize they’ll know who you are after today?”

“I—”

“Alright, gentlemen,” The Headmaster walks in with Louis trailing behind him with his face clean of blood, looking between pissed off and worried, and he gestures towards the seat beside Zayn. Both Zayn and Louis sneer simultaneously.

Marcel turns towards the front, where the Headmaster is taking a seat and he stares as the older man runs a hand over his face. They all wait, quiet, and Marcel’s amazed that Louis hasn’t made a ridiculous insult or said anything generally stupid, anything at all.

“Boys, almost _men,_ ” He gives them a pointed look, “Today you have all had a dispute, different ideas. As I took each one of you to the infirmary to get cleaned up,” Zayn snorted and Marcel knew immediately what he was thinking ( _Yeah, **cleaned up** because that’s all the bloody nurse does. I don’t have any more blood on my face but my organs are sticking out from broken skin, thanks for that_), “You each told me your own point of view of what happened. In the end, I decided you all did wrong in what you did.”

Marcel, surprisingly cut in and didn’t even seem bad about it, “With all due respect, sir, I see nothing wrong in stopping a student from harshly inflicting pain among my friend.” Marcel’s tense, doesn’t even care he just declared in front of two other people what others wondered about him and Zayn. He’s still angry they ruined Zayn’s final day, fucking probably ruined his _career_ for a while (oh god, Rebecca’s going to be so angry about the bruises on his body).

“Marcel S—” The Headmaster clears his throat, stares at Marcel, “I’m afraid inflicting pain on others yourself wasn’t exactly the best option.”

“It was purely out of self-defense, sir, not to mention that Louis Tomlinson has used offensive slurs against Zayn.”

The Headmaster rubs his forehead, “Marcel, that’s not to say you were authorized to begin hurting Mr. Tomlinson and—”

“Well that’s fucked up!” Marcel says, and he moves to stand up and leave out of pure fury but Zayn’s tense hand settles on his knee and he pushes Marcel back down. Louis snorts and Marcel’s head snaps to him with suck vigor that Louis actually jumps a bit and swallows, looks away and his normal image is back.

“So, what’s the punishment?” Louis asks, and he leans back in his seat.

The Headmaster shakes his head and gestures towards the door, “You may leave for now, and I’ll inform you of the decision your parents and I have taken.”

Everyone tenses once hearing how their parents will take part of the decision, and Louis opens his mouth to retaliate but seems to decide against it and closes it again, stands up and flees.

 

+

 

_“They liked the photos, I think.” Harry looks proud and Zayn laughs, almost ruffles Harry’s hair because why not but manages to stop himself._

_“That’s great, H,” He says, and Harry nods, they begin walking and recall slowly the day Zayn convinced his mother to take them to London for Harry’s first job without his mother knowing. He remembers Harry standing in front of a camera and posing as asked for the first time and how tense he seemed, how uncomfortable he obviously felt, but it was a small magazine with low budgets. They liked Harry, promised to contact again if needed._

_Harry was happy, but his mother was not when Harry brought her his first check. She had an argument with Zayn’s mother but in the end she sighed and complied to Harry’s wishes to continue modelling._

_Honestly, it was no surprise when over time he had success, enough to have his mother get him an agent, and the agent helped him get more widely know._

_Harry, no longer fourteen but instead sixteen, was making it big as much as Zayn and together the two started an adventure. It sounds cheesy, it does, but there’s no other more appropriate word._

_For the longest time Harry loved life because of the experiences it gave him, the people he met, the places he visited._ _He was **successful and happy.** For the longest time he believed he could actually make a living out of this, seeing as considering his family was going through an economic crisis. He was already helping a lot with the large checks he was bringing home, and he couldn't believe his luck. He could actually live off traveling the world. He could stick by Zayn, and continue making friend of all types, meet even more celebrities like Caroline fucking Flack. He was making his way to the top slowly as one of the most recognized models, slowly but he was. Growing up as an awkward semi-attractive fourteen year old appearing in new magazines, to a young seventeen year old being asked to travel from place to place and bring home some keychains from the gift shops for his sibling and mother._

 

+

 

_ _

 

+

 

_But then he was kidnapped._

 

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or kudo because if not many people are into this then I'll probably discontinue DD:  
> -Alex


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm back with my writer's block in the past! Thank you so much for waiting and please tell me what you think. Don't worry, you won't have to wait for any Harry/Louis interaction any longer!   
>  -Alex

Marcel’s first day at school without Zayn was even worse than he had expected.  One would think that’s it’s because he now completely friendless in this school, but he had also managed to fuck up majorly _the last day before Zayn’s depart_. Once arriving at this school for the first time he was mocked, pushed at and constantly got yelled insults from all directions criticizing his choice of clothes, his thick glasses, his hair, and really, anything they ever could. That was the best of cases. Sometimes people just stares, turned away from him in feat to being categorized the same way. Either way, they all looked at him in pity.

Now though.

Now people whisper as they see him approach. Some look at him with surprise in their eyes, while others are wary, and as Marcel faces the floor when he walks to his first class, he can feel eyes following his every move. It’s not that they’re scared of him really, after all, he’s just Marcel, but he could at least admit that some are more careful around him, as if trying not to make him snap.

It’s _high_ _school_ and when rumors begin to spread around, more and more details are modified as they move from one mouth to another ear— from those who were there when it happened to those who weren’t. They start by making Marcel seem more like a bloody wrestler (“Yeah, Julian was there and he said Marcel looked like he was about to kill him!”), or seem angrier than he really was (“I heard that his face was bright red and all.”). It’s ridiculous, to be honest, but Marcel can’t simply announce that this wasn’t the way it went or he’d come off as defensive. Not to mention that he doesn’t have friends to help him out during these type of situations. But one thing that Marcel didn’t expect was the reaction Louis Tomlinson began having.

Liam, one of his best mates apparently, stares at Marcel with a glint of what seemed to be annoyance in his eyes, and Niall just seems a bit awkward whenever Marcel is just a few feet away, between keeping his eye out for Marcel and seeming embarrassed every time Marcel caught him.

Louis, though.

For a strange reason Louis avoids eye contact with Marcel on Monday. All weekend Marcel had gone through the possibilities of what would happen once he saw him again, how he would react, but he never thought it’d be this way. He came to a couple conclusions. Between getting help to beat him to a pulp after school, having the whole school give him shit all day, and simply having him as his target for the rest of the school year and after that.

He doesn’t seem to want to do any of those things, though, and Marcel’s confused. Louis glares at him sometimes, only to turn around when Marcel gives him a blank look back, as if expecting Marcel to go on a rampage again whenever he sees Louis’ ‘attitude’. Sometimes Louis just looks plainly embarrassed, at knowing that it was the kid in the vest and large glasses that managed to knock him down rather than Zayn, the one who’s always been causing repulsion and sometimes fear in those who don’t know him. Marcel can’t say he’s at ease, though, because there’s still the fact that Zayn’s gone.

On one hand there have been rumors about that spreading too, not that anyone tells him. Mostly it’s just him accidentally catching snippets around as he walks through the halls, until those speaking quickly shut up once noticing his approach and continuing once Marcel’s gone.

There are some who are naïve enough to say Zayn’s left because he freaked out and didn’t want Louis to beat him up again, mostly those who weren’t there to see what was really happening and the way Zayn stood up against Louis quite marvelously and continuously taunted him throughout the fight.

Most aren’t wondering about Zayn’s disappearance, have no idea he’s gone to live in New York City to continue his modelling career, the only career he considers worth doing considering Zayn’s passion doesn’t rest on anything ‘reachable’, as he likes to say, and since he was given the opportunity to become a model, he’s going to take advantage of it. They don’t know Zayn has been Marcel’s best friend for a large period of their lives, but they’re getting there. They’re all questioning the reason of why Marcel stepped in, why he helped the school freak who has no friends and stopped Louis Tomlinson’s brutal beatings.

They seem to know, though, have come to the conclusion that he didn’t simply do it out of goodness of his heart. No one would have done it, considering it would risk having Liam Payne and Niall Horan joining in.

“Have _you_ seen those two talk before because, fuck, what even _happened_ out there?”

“The nerd seemed pretty protective of Zayn, like, what the fuck? Doesn’t seem to be the type of friend Zayn would have. Maybe he was just trying to be nice?”

“And, what? Become the school fucking vigilante? He’s a _loser,_ not a fucking hero.”

They’re all questioning and now during lunch, as he sits outside the school under a tree, they eye him, believe they are being discreet when they exit the school to stare at him with wide eyes before quickly looking away and entering the school again with whispers, surely about him. Marcel doesn’t like the attention. He has tried to avoid it, has for the longest time since he quit with so much dedication, too much apparently, because now he seems to be the only person on everyone’s mind.

 

-

 

_There was a party happening right now. There are bright lights everywhere, the club filled to the brink with people dancing, drinking, and snorting white powder up their noses with giggles filling the air. Everyone can barely breathe, given the amount of people there trying to have a nice time. It’s funny how all of these people are the host’s ‘closest friends’. It doesn’t matter, it makes it all much more fun._

_Harry? Harry is fucking **happy.** He’s drunk and he’s half sure he’s high as well. He doesn’t know. Was it weed? Was it cocaine? He doesn’t give a shit because he’s surrounded by people telling their stories, having a laugh, some flirting, others just great to be around. So many people, a huge party. Harry knows somewhere around here really successful and important people are like model, Cara Delevingne and actress, Jennifer Lawrence are here, as well as singer, Taylor Swift and others. He doesn’t really care. It wouldn’t be the first time he meets them either way._

_All in all, the parties that take place nowadays are huge and Harry is constantly being invited to them. He loves it and how photos of him with other people are displayed all over the social media by people with **fans** (AKA, famous people he hopes to become part of one day) stating that they met Harry Styles, an English model, and had a great time with him. People know him, he’s getting newer and better deals constantly, and after years of his single mother trying her best to have enough money to feed her two children, he’s now filthy rich and can gift his mother whatever she desires (not that she ever accepts his money. The most he’s gotten her to accept without angrily hitting him with a rolling pin was a refrigerator and that was only because the last once ceased to work)._

_Zayn’s somewhere around here, in a corner snogging a girl with his hand slowly trailing up her thigh under her dress. It’s probably a pretty older girl with fame and money up her sleeve like Gigi Hadid or someone of that sort. Zayn’s just good at it that way._

_Harry’s sitting at the stools where the bar is, his fingers constantly wrapping themselves around one shot glass and then other with the amount of people happy to provide him with alcohol. He’s sixteen and he’s drunk off his ass, he’s been grinding a couple girls a few years older than him and currently smoking like a chimney, cigarette dangling between his middle and pointer finger as he constantly takes drags from it. Life couldn’t be better._

_“Styles! Harry Styles!” Harry turns and grins as he sees Nick Grimshaw, the host, walk towards him with a huge grin in response, “I’m so glad to catch you here, kid!” Harry knows Nick does not in fact think of Harry as a kid considering he knows Harry’s amount of girls he’s gotten into bed with is not a record a **kid** has._

_Harry lets it pass either way, and walks away from the group of people with him to wrap his arms around Nick and giggle into his neck. Nick hugs back and only turns back to smack a kiss onto Harry’s temple, which has the latter laugh even louder as he stumbles on his feet. Nick raises an eyebrow._

_“Alright, Harry,” He strains as he tries his best to keep Harry on his feet, “I think that’s enough vodka for tonight.” Harry responds in a whine as he tries to trap Nick in a kiss, which Nick avoids with a laugh and carefully pats Harry’s groin, which seems to be the wrong move seeing as Harry’s hard for who knows what reason._

_“Keep it in your pants, Styles.” As he pulls his hand away Harry follows him, tries to press against Nick’s hand again and Nick rolls his eyes, pulls Harry close as the group of people who were talking to Harry close their circle and continue talking. Harry easily accepts his hug and drunkenly nuzzles into him._

_“Grimmy.” Harry whines, and he fits his thigh between Nick’s legs, rubs against him and with the friction Nick chokes on his drink and laughs as he feels Harry’s desperate thrusts. **God,** is this kid drunk._

_“Alright, hot stuff, just because you look older than your age and everyone here is too busy getting high doesn’t mean that it’ll be alright to see a 16 and 26 year old rubbing off on each other at a party.” Harry doesn’t seem to agree and he bites his bottom lip, cheeks flushed and eyes wide as he stares up at Nick with seas of green, curls framing his face wildly as his open shirt expose the few tattoos he has littering his chest and flat stomach. It’s quite easy to tell he’s a model. Everyone falls at Harry’s feet with his smirks and stealthy personality. Nick though? Nick knows Harry and he’s not buying any of this bullshit._

_“You’re going home, bud. Or—well, back to the hotel you’re staying at or whatever. What hotel was that?” Nick asks as he leads Harry out of the club. Harry hums, pulls away as he tries to walk straight as he heard drunken yells of goodbye his way. He ignored them._

_“Sofitel.” Harry mumbles once they’re outside._

_“Jesus,” Nick breathes, “In Beverly Hills?” Don’t get him wrong, he’s stayed in that hotel in the past and he’s sure more than half the party attenders have as well but, **fuck,** Harry is sixteen and is already spending the night at prestigious hotels._

_Thankfully he gets a cab to stop soon, though, and he carefully shuffles Harry in, ruffles his hair and says he’ll be staying at the party longer but he’s sure Zayn will meet him at the hotel sooner. Once telling the cab driver the address, he sends Harry on his way. Neither of them thought it’d be the last time they’d see each other._

-

 

Marcel shakes out of the memory, winces and continues finishing his lunch while trying to get up to get to class seeing as lunch time is clearly over. He’s quiet about it, and he sighs as he dumps the resting bits in the trashcan. He’s not in the mood to eat anymore. On his way there he receives the same treatment as always. People stare, people talk. Marcel doesn’t show it as he keeps his face void from any emotion, but he’s _terrified._

They’re questioning who he is. Which family is he part of? What is he to Zayn Malik?

_“What’s his last name?”_

Marcel tenses at the question he hears and suddenly everyone in the hall quietens, watch his moves but Marcel doesn’t even turn around and he forces his steps to keep on going because in the end there’s nothing he could do. He’s lonely, he’s friendless and yet he can’t bring himself to change that. It’s too risky, people might ask once they think they’ve got Marcel as a friend. All they want is information in exchange for their friendship. This is why he misses fame and famous people. They never asked because they didn’t care—

_No._ He doesn’t miss fame. He doesn’t. He hates it, wants nothing to do with it. Where has it gotten him so far? With his earnings in a bank account and his mother staring at him in concern. From living the best life in a flat in Los Angeles to moving back in with his mother in Manchester.

The bell rings, but Marcel still doesn’t hurry. Everyone scurries away and he knows students and in their classrooms still murmuring about him, and though the professors snap at them to let them give their class, Marcel knows they’re equally as interested. Marcel still remembers asking to never be addressed as ‘Styles’ with his mother beside him clutching his hand as his headmaster gave him a hard look, before nodding once.

Now everyone is _trying_ to find out. Not only his surname but any piece of information they can find. If they keep searching they’re bound to find something and—

“Marcel.” Marcel turns at the sound of his voice and he holds back the urge to take a deep breath as he sees none other than Niall Horan at the end of the hallway with a smile on his lips, if not a bit of wariness in his eyes. Marcel stops in his tracks and makes no move to walk towards him. He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t move, Marcel doesn’t even _breathe_ for a few seconds as he watches the blonde. He can’t find his voice and when he does he tries to level it to sound assured.

“Hello.” He says.

“Can we talk?”

Marcel looks away and nods, knows there’s no way he can get out of this because even if he runs to his class, he’ll be pestered into talking with what Marcel knows won’t just be words and Marcel has gotten into one fistfight too many already. The bruises on his side and his neck prove it. He has only seen Louis Tomlinson a handful of times until then, mostly from a distance and judging by the bruise on his jaw, he isn’t any better. He wonders what he told his mother.

_Yeah, mum, don’t worry. I was just assaulting a student for being gay and his friend stepped in to help him out._ To be honest, Marcel isn’t any better judging by the way his mother demanded to be told what happened. Of course, Marcel didn’t tell her but he supposes the lie he gave was more than enough judging by how his mother didn’t say anything more.

“Follow me.” Niall says, and Marcel does. To be honest, he’s half expecting to follow Niall at the back of the school and find Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne waiting for him to beat the pulp out of him, even though Niall doesn’t seem to be that much of a bad person compared to the former two. But people sometimes surprise you. There’s a reason he’s friends with the other two.

While they do go to the back of the school and he’s leaded far away from any intrusion, though, it turns out the place is not only secluded, but alone. The benches around them, surrounding the football field cover them from view in case any teacher decides to walk out anytime school and Niall’s easy grin has fallen into a grimace.

“Look, mate, I just wanted to apologize.”

While Marcel doesn’t say anything, he’s sure the confusion he feels is shown along with bewilderment on his face for anyone to see. Meanwhile, Niall continues, is eyes on the ground as he uses the tip of his sneaker to begin drawing on the dirt below them.

“Louis told me about what happened and it was obviously his fault, but, I mean, to be honest he had no idea Zayn was listening in and didn’t think the homophobic comments would get to him.”

Marcel, who already knows the story from Zayn wants to say ‘ _it wasn’t the comments that pissed him off’_ but he stays quiet instead.

“Look, whatever quiet feud is going between you and Louis,” Wait, what? “I just don’t want you to think I’m taking sides. Louis fucked up, pretty bad, and you gave him what he deserved but he meant no true harm. So, anyway,” Niall takes a deep breathe, “I want both of you to cut the crap and forget about it because whenever Louis doesn’t like someone shit happens and someone gets hurt.” He stands there, staring at Marcel hard, as if waiting for a response but he doesn’t get one.

“What type of feud?” Marcel asks, because he had no idea there even _is_ one. But by the time he finally gets to say these words Niall has already gone.

 

-

 

Marcel has started to notice the feud.

He decided, if he couldn’t ask Niall, he would figure out what the hell was going on and while at first he thought Louis Tomlinson was trying to avoid him at all costs because he had some sort of fear coursing through his veins whenever he thought of Marcel’s name or something as cheesy as that, he had no idea it was because Louis was dedicating his time to make sure everyone thinks the worse of Marcel. If he can’t end Marcel physically, why the fuck not try socially? (Not that he thought it was possible to do so more than he already is).

It started when he entered his first class the next day, and as usual there were whispers, conversations he hadn’t even bothered to hear both in fear of what he would discover and because he knew what they would be about. Not many huge things happen in this school, so after the show Marcel made it has yet to be talked about even after he’s graduated.

_Hey, you heard what happened a couple years ago? Like, apparently this total nerd had a rampage and beat the crap out of this footie player. Surprised everyone._

Him as a legend. He laughs at the prospect of it.

This time he doesn’t try to block out what his classmates have to say about him, though, and is surprised to hear nothing of the incident.

“Yeah, mate. Heard he’d slept with Mrs. Killian a couple times.” The student stage whispers to the group huddled around him, and Marcel’s eyes widen. Mrs. Killian is at least in her fifties, which, what the fuck?

“ _Mrs. Killian?!_ ” Someone else repeats, and the disgust in her voice is obvious, “Why the hell would Marcel sleep with someone like her?” At least with the amount of times his name has been rotating around the school they’ve managed to get it right.

Marcel looks back to the women he once dated, being fifteen years older than him. He regretfully admits that considering he was given the opportunity to date beautiful women older than him, he didn’t hesitate to do so but there is no way these people knew that. No way could they have known about his days as Harry Styles. And he doesn’t remember sleeping with elder women, actually.

“Don’t know, man,” The teenager responds, and he shrugs, “Just what I heard. Can’t believe he’d do it with _that_ though. Seriously, wouldn’t she be all wrinkly down there?”

A couple people yell the boy’s name in disgust, wanting him to stop with all those revolting details, now those images flooding their minds, all while Marcel is confused one second, and realizing the only reason he’s gotten so much attention lately is because of the utter _crap_ that comes out of Louis Tomlinson’s mouth, he grabs his stuff and leaves the class.

 

-

 

_The cab is cold, considering the leather only freezes over with the temperature of the place. He thought California was supposed to hot but, god, was he wrong. Granted, compared to England it’s only chilly but considering the amount of time he’s spent out of his home country, the weather is outstanding. He’s probably thinking this through too much though but that’s just what happens sometimes when Harry Styles snorts too much cocaine. He laughs at himself and shakes his head while accidentally smacking himself with the window._

_He is more caught off guard though when the cab suddenly halts and his body, not expectant, launches itself forward causing him to whine in discomfort as his head hits the seat in front, and he slumps in defeat. It goes unnoticed, though, and the driver’s car door is suddenly ripped open before a gruff voice, demands, “Get the fuck out.” Harry blinks in surprise. He thought his driver was an elderly man with a soft voice?_

_His own door is opened harshly and he is pulled out. Just as he huffs out and tries to push one of the men wearing dark clothes away (possibly say something snotty like ‘hey mate, don’t think you even deserve to be this close to a successful model so back off’) he sees the guns._

-

 

The corridors are mostly empty, save for a couple kids running late to class as they struggle to carry all their things without dropping anything and the ones calmly walking as they try to find a way to escape the school going unnoticed. Marcel is none of them, and he shoves people away angrily as he makes his way to the bleachers to calm down because, what’s the point anymore? All this time wanting to start fresh and live a normal teenage life as the nerd of the school and yet he can’t do that either, all because of _Louis fucking Tomlinson._

When he reaches the bleachers he sits down and grabs his head in his hands. He’s hyperventilating, he knows, but he can’t will his breathing to calm down. Flashes of the dark and burly men appear before his eyes and he tries to shake them away, but fails. If he could go back into the past to change his mistakes, he doesn’t where he would start.

_“Harry, love. Are you sure you want to try out modelling? It’s just—you’re too young to start working.”_

Probably there. He would have changed his answer.

When he finally enters his next class, late of course, he simply mumbles an apology and shuffles his way towards his desk. He hates how this time no one tries to trip him. The professor is giving him a wary look as well, as if wary of him and what he might do.

“Marcel Styles, is there any particular reason why you’re late?”

Marcel immediately tenses up, and his backpack begins to weigh him down. He clenches his fist around his desk and stares it down as it turns pale. He feels everyone staring at his back and he knows that with the frightening reaction he must be having he’s only feeding the rumors that circle around.

Just then the teacher seems to realize what she’s done wrong and she flushes.  Marcel sniffs deeply and slowly relaxes his fingers. As he turns his head, he sees pairs of eyes on his face and his superior with an expression resembling guilt.

“Marcel, would you please?” She waves towards his desk, expectant, and her voice is more hesitant this time. But it’s too late. She can’t take it back. Behind him, Marcel hears someone say, _“Styles? Is that his last name?”_ Marcel is meticulously and thoroughly fucked.

Nonetheless he ducks his head and sits down as told, pretending not to notice the conversations around him until everyone is told to quiet down and pay attention to the next topic. Behind him he thinks he can feel the girl’s wide stare and he simply looks down and takes notes in his journal.

It was fine if people knew his last name, he decided. It wasn’t as much of a big deal as he thought to be, honestly. Give it a few days and it’ll be another last name. This was what Marcel was telling himself as he rushed through the hallways towards his locker to grab his next books and leave his own. It was his last class of the day. He could do it. He believes he could as long as he leveled himself out and refused to let his emotions influence his actions. We all know how well that went last time.

But then a small voice appears behind him, soft and female, that murmurs, “Styles isn’t a very common name is it? Wasn’t that Harry’s name?” And everything goes to hell.

 

-

 

_“Get in.” A gruff voice orders, and he is nudged starkly by the side with something that feels suspiciously like the gun, towards the dark van behind his taxi. Harry stumbles but manages to catch himself and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. He still doesn’t understand what’s happening._

_“I said get in!”_

_Harry falls into the van, clutches at his ribs as he cries in hair, and his terrified wide eyes manage to catch the sight of his nice taxi driver on the floor, a pool of red surrounding his head, before the door is pulled shut harshly in his face. Harry’s breathing begins to labor and his throat hurts from breathing in the cold air so heavily after having a smoke not long ago. He lets out a desperate cry and shuffles on his hands and knees towards the door, not quite sober yet but his thoughts coherent enough to understand the gravity of the situation._

_Just as his fingers begin trying to find ways of escape against the door in the completely dark inside of the van his body is propelled backwards by the hand that grabs the back of his collar and shoves his away. Harry behind to flail and he can feel hot tears running down his face when a snarl says against his neck, “Stay fucking still, kid.”_

_There’s shuffling and Harry cries into the carpet of the van, not caring that his snot is going everywhere as he weakly struggles against the strong hands that grab his arms and pull them against his back. Minutes later Harry Styles, upcoming star model who felt like he was on the top of the world and too worthy of anyone’s attention, found himself in the back of a van, tied up and on his way to the obscure and cruel room that would become his home for four months._

 

-

 

“Marcel, would you come see me at the office after school please?” Marcel turns around and nods, watches in confusion as the Headmaster nods back in confirmation and leaves back through the way he came from. He wonders whether the older man actually went out of his way to look for the green-eyed boy and he hopes he didn’t.

That’s how two classes later Marcel finds himself back in his office, the door tightly shut behind him as he waits alone for the man in question to arrive. He’s fidgeting and knows well that the last time he was here he was accompanied by his best friend and Louis Tomlinson. Today, he comes alone.

“Ah, sorry for the wait.” The man in the suit with the beer belly walks in and he smoothens out his shirt before pulling it down more than it already was and walking towards the other side of the office table. He sits down and intertwines his fingers, places them on the table. Marcel winces at the hard stare he’s given.

Finally, he sighs. “I’ve noticed you’ve been having a hard time fitting in, and causing quite a rumble after last week’s incident,” When Marcel doesn’t respond he adds, “It can prove to be a problem we’ve been trying to avoid. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the conditions you asked for before enlisting to this institution, Harry.”

Marcel flinches, “Marcel.”

“Right, Marcel. I’m sorry,” He amends, and continues, “Of course we did as you asked to avoid triggering any more problems for you, since we do try to take good care of our students. What’s been happening lately has been out of our hands and I doubt it will be long before everything we’ve been trying to keep under the cover is revealed.”

He wonders if asking the Headmaster whether making all of this sound like a shitty Korean drama is necessary, but decides against it. Maybe he’s trying too hard to see humor in this when he clearly feels a burn behind his eyes that strangely resembles desperation. He makes a vague noise of agreement.

“Asking our staff to call you by a name other than yours isn’t enough anymore and due to the fact that we’ve accepted such name legally without the acknowledgement of the government, the school can get into great trouble with this.”

The older man sighs, and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again his blue eyes pierce directly into Marcel’s, “What I’m trying to say is that while we can continue to call you such name outside of lawful matters, we’re going to have to need your official legal papers for you to continue attending this school.”

 

-

 

_“Hey, how’s it been over there? Hopefully not too bad.”_ Marcel won’t lie. It’s refreshing to hear Zayn’s voice again, though it’s through the phone and there’s crackling through his side that hints he’s driving, loud honks penetrating his ear drums at moments.

“I feel like I’m in ‘Carrie’, to be honest.” Marcel admits, and he shoves another cookie into his mouth as he hears his friend laugh.

“How so?” He’s humoring him. He probably has already understood the reference before Marcel has explained it.

“Well, first I’m being laughed at and now no one’s looking at me in the eye.”

“Hmmmm. If you develop telekinesis anytime soon let me know, alright Harry?”

“That’s not my name.”

“Oh, come on mate. I’m in America so it’s not like it matters what name I use.”

Marcel hangs up and takes a deep breathe because he loves Zayn, he really does, but sometimes he finds it hard in himself to forgive Zayn for the things he doesn’t even know he’s said wrong. That’s how many times Marcel has found himself at the heart of his problems and it’s how he’s ended up here.

Maybe Zayn’s right, though, with what they were talking beforehand. The footie team, their captain. Here’s the thing: If there’s one thing Marcel has learned about Louis Tomlinson it’s that no matter what he thinks up, no matter how he tries to ruin Marcel through rumors and pranks, he still has the brain capacity of a toddler. That said, Marcel is trying really hard to not address the new problem at hand.

“So is it true?”

There’s a girl sitting on his desk in his Biology class, and she’s staring directly at him. Her eyebrows are furrowed in determination and, for the record, she’s leaning far too into his personal space for his liking. His eyes are wide behind his glasses as he tries to lean as back into his chair as possible, away from her face. No one else is in the lab yet. He vaguely remembers her as one of the students that sits at the front at a table with another kid.

“W-What?” He asks, and vaguely realizes this is the first time in a while that someone has chosen to speak to him on their own free will. He’s not sure he’s appreciating it at the moment, though.

“Is it true,” She repeats, and her breath stinks of what resembles tuna. His nose wrinkles and he turns his head away. Somehow, he can still feel her glare, “Is it true that you’re—you’re… you know.” She trails off and hesitates. This time she looks away and Marcel spares a look from the corner of his eye. She suddenly looks unsure, and then she leans towards his ear.

She whispers lowly, “ _Gay._ ”

Marcel blinks, blinks again and stares at her. She stares back. This is the next best Louis could think of?

“No,” He says, “I’m bi-sexual.”

She looks taken aback, as if she had expected him to wholeheartedly deny the matter. He doesn’t though, and he clearly stares into her eyes. At the back of his mind he feels a nudge warning him that this is yet another bad idea, why would he want to receive even more attention? The most obvious action she would take would be to tell her friends, and from there on the rest of the school. She leans back.

“Oh.” She says, and she hesitantly takes the empty seat beside of him. Marcel stares at her.

“I’ve never actually talked to anyone… uh… not… straight,” She says, and shoves her backpack onto the desk. Her face is burning red and she’s avoiding all visual contact with him,. Her eyes widen and she holds her hands up, “Not that I have a problem with you—you liking boys! It’s fine really! It’s a bit weird bu—no wait! Not weird, not weird at all. It’s totally cool so—” She stops herself and from there on her face seems to match the color of his backpack, “Yeah.” She finishes lamely.

“Thanks,” He mutters, and starts taking his stuff out of his backpack as everyone begins filtering into the classroom. She stays in her seat and doesn’t move.

“Would you mind I sit here from now on?”

“Huh? What about your lab partner.”

She sneers, “Useless piece of shit he is. So, can I?”

The change of atmosphere has him feeling confused for a couple seconds and he finally nods. When class starts they receive curious glares, and the guy who used to sit next to her rolls his eyes when he sees his ex-partner sitting next to Marcel but he doesn’t look surprised. The lab project starts without too much of an introduction to this topic by their teacher. He works easily with her as she chats away and they exchange acids as they pour them slowly onto their subject.

“So, really it wasn’t my fault, right?” She blabbers on, “I mean, I only told her the truth. I never promised him I’d _lie_ to her so if she asked first it’s not breaking my promise.” Marcel hums and nods, pretending to give a damn of what she’s saying as he writes down the reactions into their notebook, and she offhandedly throws the petri dish to one side.

“So, do I _have_ to apologize? Not really, right? There’s no reason to. _He_ should apologize to _me_ for expecting me to lie to my sister! Marcel, are you _listening_ to me?” Marcel shakes his head as he furiously notes down all the details their teacher is asking of them.

“Not really.” He admits before he thinks it through, and he tenses once he realizes it’s too late. He hears a high laugh though, and stares at his lab partner in wonder along with the rest of the classroom.

“You’re an ass.” She says delightfully, and Marcel fleetingly gets a hint of nostalgia of his old conversations with Zayn. He allows himself to smile.

“Yeah.”

 

-

 

_Harry’s scared. He’s so incredibly scared, he doesn’t remember ever feeling this sick in his life. There’s a pit at the bottom on his stomach that seems to clog his throat as he tries desperately to breathe. His nails are clawing at his hands, trying to find warmth in them but no matter how much he digs all he gets in ice._

_The room is pitch black, and he tries to press himself against the wall at the far back as much as he can with his legs curled in front of him. It smells vaguely of piss and sweat, but he doesn’t really register it as he tries to cry silently and wipes his snot on his sleeve._

_It’s been a week since he’s been stuck here, and so far nothing too extraordinary has happened. He’s given food to eat equivalent to some stale bread and apples, thrown a gallon a bottle for the week that he’s somehow supposed to drink, and the only light he is offered is the extremely dim light of the doorless bathroom beside where he is. Today he’s decides to sit in the dark. Maybe he can fool himself into thinking he’s in his room if he tries hard enough._

_The metal door squeaks and it’s thrown open He flinches and tries to shrink more into himself if possible. In walks a man with a beard and a cap. He doesn’t have Harry’s food._

_“Harry Styles,” He sneers, and his lips curl into a disgusting smile, “Didn’t know we had managed to bag a celebrity until I saw it in the news.” Harry’s eyes widen and he tries to scoot farther away. It’s not possible anymore. The man looks pleased at the reaction._

_“Well, kid. You might be worth a lot more than we expected. Don’t think we’re giving you up so easily without getting our own pay, though.”_

_He yanks his pants down and fists at Harry’s greasy hair._

_“Suck.” He orders._

-

 

“Marcel! Hey, over here!”

Marcel had contemplated not eating anything for lunch today, seeing as he didn’t have time to make his own today and entering the school cafeteria never seems like a good idea. He thought better of it, though, and his mind trailed on to memories of starving to death. That’s how he found himself with a cafeteria sandwich and a bottle of apple juice on his way to the biggest tree on campus.

Hearing the familiar voice, though, seeing as it’s been the first time in a long time someone yells out his name, he turns around. There, seated on a filled table with a wide smile and waving furiously at him, is his new lab partner. Marcel hesitantly waves back and is about to take his leave when she yells, “Sit with us! Where are you going?”

The cafeteria lowers into volumes so suddenly even he is surprised, their murmurs and eyes shifting between the two of them. Marcel shakes his head and points towards the door, signaling that he was on his way either way but she isn’t having any of it, and she jogs over to him to drag him to their table.

“Guys, this is Marcel.” She introduces proudly, as if pleased to have a friend of her own to announce. Marcel has literally met this girl an hour and a half ago. He thinks he vaguely hears a couple voice mutter ‘yeah, we know’ but he doesn’t really register any of it, and his eyes are the size of saucers (he really thinks that metaphor applies in moment like these) as he stares into wide blue eyes. Their gazes don’t waver.

“Alright, everyone. Scoot over so Marcel could have a seat.” Everyone begrudgingly agrees and begins to do so, except for two people at the table. Louis is still frozen in place as is Harry, but Liam is just staring in defiance.

“Adeline, don’t you think we’ve already a bit full here?” He doesn’t even glance at Marcel. His eyebrows are furrowed and Marcel nods in agreement.

“I don’t mind leaving--”

Adeline rolls her eyes and waves her hand offhandedly at the footie player, patting the shoulder of the person besider her who has managed to make enough space for the green eyed boy, “Matt here has made enough space for Marcel and no one’s falling off so it’s fine.”

Everyone at the table is still silent as she plops down in her former seat and pats at the empty place beside her. Marcel tries not to notice the disgusted glares and bewildered stares from the athletes and their girlfriends. On the other side of the table to his far right Louis Tomlinson is still staring at him.

“Marcel, mate! Nice to see you again!” Niall exclaims, and he makes a show out of elbowing everyone’s faces somehow to reach out towards the lad. Marcel stares at his hand, unsure of what to do until the boy named Matt mutters, “You’re supposed to shake it.” He snaps out of reverie and does so. Niall’s grin widens and he crackles when the people around him behind complaining about his armpit in the faces, his elbow, and how his post-morning training sweat is going to stink their food.

Everyone rolls their eyes at his antics and conversation begins once more, but Marcel isn’t paying attention as he stares at Louis. Louis notices of course, and the younger of the two half expects him to snap his head at him and say something like, “Oh, fucking fag. I’m not your eye candy, alright?” He does nothing like that, though, and only spares Marcel a couple glances every once in a while.

No one mentions the rumor Louis’ spread around, or well any of them. Not the ‘he fucked our elderly teacher’ or the ‘he’s a _homosexual_ ’ one. No one says a word. Not that they have to though. Their snobby comments given indirectly towards the lad are enough and he can’t do anything but force himself to eat the sandwich he’s not hungry for.

He almost sighs in relief when he feels the buzz of his pockets, and he excuses himself lowly even though no one is paying attention to him. The caller ID is unknown, and he receives the call with a hint of curiosity, “Hello?”

“Harry, before you hang up on me, at least do as I say and check your email once more. Please.” Marcel sucks in a breath and he does just as the voice had predicted. He hangs up and swallows. His back is tense and he stiffly sets his food back on the table.

With his phone under the table he doesn’t know why, but he lets his fingers work over the digital keyboard as he logs into his old email account. As expected, it’s from his old manager and Zayn’s current one. The subject reads: _Don’t you dare tell me you weren’t happy and loved._

It has a couple attached photos—screenshots from a recent article. It reads:

_ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY SINCE HARRY STYLES’ DISAPPEARANCE._

_ _

_Will we ever hear from the charming model again? Exactly one year ago the hot yet young celebrity dropped from social media as well as from the rest of the world, it seems. After the young lad’s tragic story of being abducted after the Halloween party of radio host, Nick Grimshaw, he seems to have completely dropped out of the charts!_

_…Or so we thought! That’s right! Ladies, no need to weep any longer now that we have some great news. Sources say none other than Harry Styles was spotted on his way to his old flat, it seems, in the busy streets of London safe and sound! The now seventeen year old British lad was having a splendid evening with himself, calmly trying not to receive any attention but it seems it didn’t work out in his favor. How could one not notice the handsome teenager? Just look at how casual he looks even with that adorable look of confusion! Swooooon!_

_ _

_Is Harry planning to make a comeback? Perhaps the rumors of him pursuing an acting career are true! Who wouldn’t want to see him on the big screen? Fans of his wait eagerly to have an opportunity to watch his work and meet him one day, how could he leave us in such a cliffhanger?_

__

_Are you excited to hear more from Harry? Do you think he’s ready to come back after such a long break? Tell us in the comments below and don’t forget to subscribe to our newsletter to receive more juicy news like this one!_

In moments like these Marcel would begin to think about how he can’t believe how absolutely heartless people can be, but experiencing it firsthand has taught him to never underestimate the vile things humanity can do. How someone can make something so light of him, he’ll never know. Not to mention that the photo they claim to have been taken recently is from more than a year ago. The overused photos of them in the article are worth being sneered at. It's like they're trying to bring back memories of someone dead.

He never expected there to be any new articles on Harry Styles, he won’t lie. Harry made headlines, Marcel knows. He was a pretty face who was friends with other people with pretty faces, but he wasn’t exactly a huge celebrity. Nowhere near the A-List celebrities where Leonardo DiCaprio and Angelina Jolie were. Nonetheless when word got out that an upcoming famous model had mysteriously disappeared after his taxi was hijacked, a couple news reporters covered his story and his old friends talked about it to the camera.

Harry Styles was known and liked, but now Marcel knows that he wasn’t famous.

“Hey, who’s that?” He hears, and Marcel whips his head to stare at how Adeline is pointing towards one of the photos of him. The one of him smiling as a random girl kisses his cheek.

“Wait, isn’t that H—”

Marcel does the only thing he’s capable of, and he laughs. He laughs falsely yet makes it sound honest, but it still sounds raw. Everyone stares at him in shock but Marcel continues, an easy grin on his face.

“Just some dumb article about this one guy that a friend sent me.” He says, and waves her off before she can continue. Before she could say the name no one in Manchester seems to know. He only got unlucky that she did, but thankfully she doesn’t connect the dots. Adeline grins.

“Ohhh, I get it!” She exclaims, “Yeah, sometimes people forward those to me too. I only read them out of boredom.”

Marcel nods and ignores how odd his dimple feels on his cheek. How odd it is to have to fake grins and laughs once more. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s slipping.

Faking smiles. Faking laughter. Low handedly trying to change a subject. That’s exactly something Harry Styles would do.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are welcome as well as comments.  
> 


End file.
